Save Yourself
by selfluminousbody
Summary: Nan survives life at The Sanctuary by working for points and keeping her head down. After killing a Savior, Nan struggles with the choices she makes to save her life, as well as the relationships she falls into with the community's fearsome leader and his scarred lieutenant. OC/Negan, OC/Dwight.
1. It's Not Safe Here Anymore

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, Walking Dead characters, or any canon/ non-AU material or dialogue. I only own my OCs and AU material. Enjoy!**

It's not safe here anymore. The smoke and fire coming from the collapsing cabin on my right is attracting the dead by the dozens. I can hear the snarling come from every direction, but I keep to the task at hand anyway, determined like a fool to finish. I'm almost done. Down and in, up and out. Tossing the dirt to one side with trembling hands, I dig deeper and deeper without respite; the grave I should have dug before but couldn't. Now that I have a chance to do so, I ignore the burning aches in my limbs and that every breathe is dry and painful.

The burning cabin is of no concern to me anymore and I even disregard the fact the sound of the biters is getting louder indicating that they are closing in. I have to finish this. I know it's stupid and possibly going to get me killed but I don't care. I'm not going to just leave the body lying here to be eaten by those fucking things. Not this time. Besides, I'm almost done.

"Nan," a labored voice growls, making me stop immediately. I still have my eyes fixed on the grave, the shovel I've been using filled with dirt. I listen for a moment more, unsure of whether I actually heard a voice or if the noise was just the gnarls of the dead. I look to my left where I laid the body and feel my heart stop I when I see that its gone. _Where did it go?_ It couldn't have gone anywhere, I made sure of that. My eyes frantically scan the woods looking for it. My hearts begins to be beat rapidly when I can't find it. Breathing starts to become harder as I try to control inhaling and exhaling that continue to trip over each other. I feel panic start to creep over me, when an all too familiar sound that commands me to be still.

A whistle that pierces my ears. Another whistles sounds from a different direction than the first one, which is answered by a third somewhere else . _No, no, no. Please, not now._ Without a second's passing the atmosphere fills with whistling, all the same eerie tune that merges together until it sounds like one large, torrential sound that stuns me. _Fuck!_ I drop the shovel and place my hands on the sides of my head in order to stop the noise.

I search the scene from where I stand but I can't see anyone, or anything for that matter. _Where'd the dead go?_ The whistling started and the biters vanished. The whistling shrills louder as they draw close. Covering my ears does me no good, I can't can block out the disorienting sound. Tears gather around the rims of my eyes, making me losing focus.

All of the sudden, a hand grabs my wrist and I flinch, looking up in horror. The body that I lost is face to face with me, rotted with a jaw that's unhinged and hanging off the left side. I look on, stunned, slowly blinking away the tears as its sallow eyes bore into mine, looking more alive than they should. The jaw moves as best it can with a cracking and clicking sound as if trying to bite...or speak.

"Nan," it chokes out, pulling me out of my stunned state. I try to pull free from the its grip but it feels locked into place around my wrist. As I struggle, the whistling returns louder and so close that I know they are right here, even though I don't see them.

With one forceful tug, I break free with the hand still attached to my wrist, but jerking movement causes me to slide my foot back a bit which then goes out from under me. I feel myself fall backwards into the grave I forgot was behind me. I land quickly but bluntly on my back which knocks the wind of me. The whistling above stops again but the silence feels thick, foretelling something bad.

The body stands above the grave looking in, jaw still moving to communicate. Go on. I wait for it to spit out my name again, but before it can, a grating laugh smashes the silence. The laugh arrests me and all I can think to do is to wait for the man to appear before that hole and instruct me to either move from it or to stay and accept that it is now my grave. Suddenly, something extends into my sight and prods the body forward into the grave with me. It falls at the same rate I did and as it crashes against me, I hear it's jaw splutter out a sickening, "Nan," that knocks me out.


	2. Enough For One Day

My body jolts me awake from what turns out to be a bad dream. I wake up like that quite often these days. A lot of my dreams, when I dream at all, are ended by me flinching back into consciousness, because my body or mind or whatever makes these calls has decided that the dream is too upsetting and, sometimes, too comforting to bear. This one was both.

I thought it wouldn't happen as often as it does since I took up residence at The Sanctuary and am "safe" here but I guess my body isn't convinced of that. My hands feel like they've got rigor mortis from clutching my blanket tightly in my sleep.

"Mornin" gorgeous," a muffled voice chimes behind me. I look over my shoulder to see my neighbor, Hal sitting on his mattress that's about two feet or less from mine, eating oatmeal from a metal camping bowl. I roll over to face him, watching over his shoulder, the other people quietly talking to one another and getting ready for the day.

"Sleep well?" He asks a little amused.

"Yeah," I finally speak, lying. "Why, do I look like hell?" I ask, sitting up and feeling the chill of the factory nip my arms as my flannel sheet and fire blanket slide off my upper half. "How'd you know I was awake, handsome? I add.

"You did the thing again. You know, where you jolt-" he flinches to mimic me," yourself awake. It's weird as shit, mate, but you don't look like hell. Nah, you look as _ethereal_ as ever," he quips, his British accent makes his smart ass remark seem half charming.

I faintly, but endearingly smile at him.

"Fucking liar," I sigh before pulling my bedding off my legs and swinging them off the side of the mattress, my feet meeting the floor within a second as mine and everyone else's beds are basically floor level, with only a pallet separating them from the dirty floor of the factory. I groan inwardly at the stiffness of my shoulders. I roll them back to try and work out the aches, sighing through my nose, frustrated. I must of curled my shoulders close together while sleeping, like a scared child. I don't why my body feels like it has to be alert when I'm asleep, but its fucking tiresome.

I suppose I should be grateful that some part of me is in survival mode, but its a real bitch when I'm awoken, sometimes through out the night, like I'm being defibrillated back to life.

I leaned over towards my small trunk to get my jug of water and muslin cloth from it. The trunk was already here when I was assigned to this area on the day I arrived at The Sanctuary. It was empty, as was the mattress except for a flannel sheet, but it was clear that it had belonged to someone else who no longer took up this space; most likely because they had died. I mean, there is a possibility that this someone could've moved on to bigger and "better" things, but why would they have left perfectly good trunk here, instead of taking it with them? Especially since it had a photo of two people, one of them being the previous occupant I imagine, still inside.

I pour some water onto the cloth and gently wash around my face and neck. The skin around my nose ring hurts a bit, but it's just from my nostrils being dry on account of the cold factory air. I ring out the cloth and hang it on the opened top of my trunk to dry. I bring the re-purposed milk jug up to my lips and take a three big gulps, before I hear Hal mutter a "fucking hell" under his breath.

I look over at him, questioningly, and then over my shoulder in the direction he's staring. I immediately feel my face lose expression as I find a Savior squatting over a plastic milk crate that sat at the end of a lady's bed. The chatter around us dies out when other people take notice. The Savior was rummaging through the crate, looking for one of three things: something she may have stolen, something she isn't allowed to have, or something that he might want. My bet's on the last one.

 _Fucking hell_ , I share Hal's sentiments. The lady, Sharon, stands behind him, trying not to look unmoved as she watches him go through her things. There really isn't anything she can do but just that, stand there and watch.

The Saviors steal from us all the time, even though they don't really need to. It's more of power thing, really. That and a total disregard of how hypocritical it is to take from people you claim to protect. No wonder my body can't relax and smell the safe space around here.

The Saviors rule The Sanctuary, an old factory turned compound after the world went to hell in a hand basket and the dead staring eating us. They call themselves "The Saviors" because they claim that to protect people from all the dangers of outside world while providing stable resources for those of us here. In exchange for such fine goods and service along with a roof over our heads, we, the poor sons of bitches who they take in must work for them in order to stay and earn the things we need. Now, I know that doesn't seem like a bad deal, except the Saviors are probably the worst thing within at least hundred mile radius in this part of Virginia. And while some may think that its a good thing to be under the protective embrace of the big, bad wolves around here, most of us here agree that its not really all that peachy when our saviors are also our brutalizers.

There are rules here. "You earn what you take" is the popular motto, but unless you're a Savior, you don't take anything. The Sanctuary is a five layer pyramid. On the bottom are the dead that are chained and impaled around the outside of the factory. They keep other groaners and living threats at bay. It also keeps people from trying to escape. The second layer is the people like Hal and I, who are taken in and put to work doing tasks around the factory that's "beneath" the Saviors' paid grade. We sleep in little quartered areas on the factory floor with curtains strung up like dividers and little placards that hang on the same lines above each space to indicate where you belong. We work to earn points for the things we need or want. Food, clothing, toiletries, medicine, you name it, we work for it. God help you if you have a condition that requires continual medicinal assistance, because medicine is harder to scavenge, so it's expensive.

The third tier is made up of the Saviors who don't have to work for points, because without them, we wouldn't have shit. These people work directly for the leader, doing what ever is told of them, which the rest of us do anyway, but their duties require a little more trust and loyalty. Oh, and cruelty. The Saviors are willing to do tasks that, to some credit, are things the rest can't do or don't want to do. They also have a weird affinity to the king prick of this place, Negan.

The fourth layer is smaller than the bottom three, consisting of six women, currently. They are Negan's wives, women who have agreed to be married our leader in order to forgo working for points. The wives live in luxury ,as does he I'm sure, because they have the privilege, nay, the _honor_ of being with him. They probably all have their reasons for choosing to accept his offer of marriage, but I can't imagine crawling into bed with that man.

Which brings us to the tip top of our little hierarchy. Negan. He is the psychotic backbone of the place. There wouldn't be Saviors, Sanctuary, or shit for points without Negan. I've been told there wasn't any signs of beating this new world until Negan came around and lit a fire under everyone's asses. He created the harsh system we live by and because the system works for us, some of us more than others, Negan is the unquestioned leader of the new world. He owns everything and everyone that crosses his path and if you don't toe the line, you're dead or wishing you were. And even after you're dead, he still owns your hide.

The majority of punishments are brutal which keeps people, for the most part, in line. Those of us who work for points can have our points suspended which is minor, unless the points aren't reinstated after a week or so. The one punishment we all fear is Lucille. Lucille is a Louisville slugger whose barrel is wrapped in barbed wire and Negan's favorite enforcer of the rules. You don't want to have to answer to Lucille for breaking the rules. She isn't forgiving in the least.

We all stare at the scene, again, helpless to Sharon as the Savior rifles through her belongings. It's not technically against the rules for him to be doing this. If he takes it, he earns it. It makes the points system seem kind of pointless, no pun intended. What's the point of working our asses off to earn the points if the things we buy with them just get taken by some asshole? I guess you could try and do the same thing to the Saviors, but at your peril. It's only against the rules to steal from Negan. I heard a girl got her finger chopped off for stealing a car and using gas to go find her boyfriend.

After a few minutes, the Savior stands up placing something I can't quite make out into his jacket pocket. Sharon steps aside for him to pass, refusing to make eye contact with him. He tips an invisible hat to her and walks past her, brushing a hand across the right side of her face along on the way out. I feel my cheeks warm with anger for her and I almost want to storm after him to take the back whatever he has of hers and return to her.

I almost want to, but I learned on the first day that I arrived here to put out any fight I had in me that could be used to defy Negan and his Saviors, in order to survive. I hate myself for not standing up but, in truth, I've always been the kind of person who wants to do something for other people and then never really goes through with it out of selfishness or fear. I'm no savior anymore than the Saviors are. I can barely look after myself.

When the Savior walks far enough away, Sharon does something that's really strange to me: she cries. Whatever strength she had to make herself seem unphased when he was here is gone when she bursts into tears, covering her face to stifle the crying.

I've been accused of being emotionally incompetent before, but I'm a little confused at how distraught she is over what little thing he took. After a while of that bullshit, you just become numb to it. There's no point in having an attachment to personal belongings, when the next day it'll just belong to a Savior who wants it. My right index finger anxiously picks at the skin around my thumb. Everyone returns to what ever they were doing before, except Hal and I who continue to look on. I, out of confusion, and Hal, out of sympathy because he's a nicer person than me.

"She's really upset, huh?" I say, a little more harshly than intended.

"Nan," Hal sighs heavily with frustration which makes me turn to look at him. His gives me a displeased look, so I cast my eyes down and continue getting ready for work, feeling like a scolded child.

"I know you are how you are and that's fine, be yourself, but not everyone is like _you_." He gets up from his bed and walks over to Sharon. I don't know what Hal says to her but she embraces him and he comfortingly hugs her back, patting her shoulder. I see his lips form, "It's okay," as she shakes her head, still holding on to him.

He looks over at me and I give a weak smile which he returns. Suddenly a loud whistle shrills through the factory and a Savior named Reed bellows out, "Let's get a move on, people! Anyone still in their quarters will work for free today!" He down at his watch, "You have thirty seconds starting...NOW!"

I give a small wave to Hal as I start to move from my area. He nods back at me and I leave, knowing that he'll leave too before Reed's watch gets to thirty.

I make my way to the part of the factory where we make bread, because that's the job I was assigned to when I told Reed that I used to work in my grandparent's bakery. He asked if I had any other useful skills, but aside from standard first aid and being a terrible shot, I said I didn't. So I got stuck with bread duty, which isn't so bad. I only have to worry about not cutting or burning myself. Some people are tasked with putting biters on the fence, so I count myself lucky.

I walk over to my station that's already got most of the other bakers there. I politely say 'good morning' to some of bakers as I walk over to get an apron as well as everything else I need to get started. As soon as I have a set of utensils and ingredients, I tie my hair back into a pony tail and I get right to work. I just want to knead away the unpleasantness of the incident that occurred this morning.

I tend to work in silence even though I work with twelve other people. Some of them are nice enough, but I'm not much of a conversationalist. I always come across as a cold and indifferent bitch. It might be my sharp, sarcastic tone of voice or that I tend to say things without thinking. I never intend to be to rude, but I've never been good in social situations. Most of the time, I just keep quiet to avoid saying something stupid or salty. Plus, I don't mind silence, if I have nothing to say I don't feel the need to make small talk with another person just because they're uncomfortable with it. Maybe I am a bitch.

An hour or so passes when someone I really dislike walks in. Dwight. He comes to take some bread nearly every day, not having to pay for it, just puts in his bag and leaves without so much as a 'thank you'. Dwight, or D is a savior that everyone knows even if you don't know his name, which everyone does because he's one of Negan's top men. He's the guy with the burn scar that takes up the left side of his face. I don't know what happened to him, but from what I understand he use to work for points sans the scar and that after he had his little accident, he became a Savior and rose up the ranks pretty quickly. I think he's despicable, ever since I met him I disliked him.

It was the morning after I was brought here that I met the asshole. I was woken up by a hard nudge to my back from a boot. I looked up to see who the boot was attached to, expecting it to be one of the Saviors that brought me in the day before. Instead, it was a younger man with a long blonde hair. "Get up, 34, you got people to meet," he says with an authoritative tone.

I stand up from my bed and look directly at him. I immediately notice the frightening scar and I redirect my attention the floor to avoid staring. "Um, 34?" I tuck my hair behind my ear nervously, this was the first thing I said since I got here.

The man scoffs and he stares at me incredulously for a moment before he lifts his arm and points up. I look up to see a cardboard placard hanging over me. Written in bold with black marker is the number 34. My mouth makes an 'o' as I nod. I clear my throat to speak, but before I can the man grabs me suddenly by the forearm and pulls me with him as he turns to leave. I try to yank my arm free and he looks back sternly.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask sharply. He pulls me forward without answering and I struggle a little, but his grip is adamant. The man takes me through the factory halls on the higher levels. We walk in silence until we get to a door that's slightly open. The man ushers me forward into the room, pushing the door further open to reveal what turns out to be the infirmary. The infirmary actually looks like a doctor's office with its examination table, medical trays, and a cabinet of medicine filled with all kinds of medicine. There's two doors, one a bathroom with its unisex plaque still attached and the other I assume is a closet. A man with a white coat who is undeniably the doctor smiles faintly in our direction. "Dwight," the old man gives a soft nod of recognition to the man who brought me hear who nods back. "Carson." I look in his direction and then back at the doctor. Dwight.

"New resident?" The doctor asks as he walks over the bathroom, opening the door and going in without closing it. "She needs a check up before she can get to work," the man named Dwight answers, pulling me over to the exam table and gesturing for me sit. As I prop myself up on the table, I hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, which causes my to whip my head towards the door. I hadn't heard running water in God knows how long. I look back at Dwight who's watching me from the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. I stare at him like questioningly with my mouth slightly open, searching his eyes for assurance that my ears don't deceive me. His face twists slightly, confused at my stunned expression.

The doctor reenters from the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel. "Good morning, I'm Carson," the man extended his hand out to me.

"Anna," I rasp, my voice a little hoarse from thirst, "But you can call me Nan. Everyone does." _Everyone? Who's everyone, Nan? Everyone that ever called you that is gone._

"Nice to meet you, Nan. Shall we begin?" Carson asks shaking my hand that I didn't realize I extended. I give a weak smile and Carson starts the exam which is basic and only takes like thirty minutes. Oh, yeah, I know how long it took because there's a goddamn clock on the wall that works. It's eight o'clock when he finishes.

"She's in good health," _Really?_ "A tad malnourished, some cuts and bruises here and there, but that's expected," Carson reports to Dwight.

He then turns to me, "I see no reason why you can start working immediately," he smiles, "You're in good hands, Nan. Negan will take care of you." Before I have time to say thank you, Dwight walks over and grabs my arm, jerking me from the table, "Thanks, Carson," he says without looking at the man and we exit.

After the medical exam, Dwight takes me to Reed for job assignment. Reed is actually not that bad, he's stern and I don't doubt he's killed before, but he's actually more reasonable than the other Saviors. When Reed finishes putting me down as a baker and writes my name next to '34' he asks Dwight to take me there. Dwight whose hand never left my forearm escorts me away from Reed.

We, again, walked in silence through the factory when all of the sudden, I feel myself getting pulled downward. Thinking Dwight stumbled and was taking me down with him, I grab the near by wall and kept myself from being hauled down. Dwight still had his hand on my arm, which he used to continue try and draw me down. I looked back at him to see what his problem was when I saw him down on one knee. "Get. down." He said firmly and before I could ask why, he snatched my hand and tugged me down to his level. I was facing him, but his eyes didn't meet mine, instead they were cast down.

"Dwight," I was about to ask what we were doing, but I heard footsteps approach us and a tall shadow cast over both Dwight and I. As the shadow passed, I saw a figure of a man walk down the corridor we just came from without acknowledging us, a barbed-wire baseball bat in hand. I knew then who it was and why Dwight had pulled us down. When Negan comes around, everyone has to kneel before the king of the new world until he passes out of sight or gives the ok to rise. What an egotistical prick.

Standing up as Negan disappeared around the corner, I turn my gaze to Dwight and open my mouth a little to say something. Before I can utter a syllable, Dwight snatches up my arm so tightly it hurts and commands me to "Move."

By the end of the day, I'm exhausted. Reed comes around with a clip board to dole out points for the day's work. When he gets to me, he raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.

"You earned nothing today, 34," He said curtly.

"B-but I...I worked all day. How could I not have earned anything?" I asked trying not to sound angry. I didn't know just yet what kind of temperment Reed had, but I knew how violent these people could be, so I didn't want to give this guy any warrant to kill me like I had seen the day before.

"Sorry, 34, but-"

"Nan, it's Nan," I almost sound like I'm gonna cry.

"Sorry, Nan, but D said not to pay you points for the day."

"D? Who's that?" I asked, a little annoyed.

Reed rolls his eyes, "Dwight. He said you need to learn to follow orders." And with that he walked off.

I was so angry I could feel a lump swell up in my throat and before any tears could form I swallowed hard and walked back to my the living space. I couldn't believe he would do that for a small incident like what happened in the hall. I already got a glimpse of how cruel the Saviors could be, this little stunt was just mean.

So, it was pretty early on that I was able to say that I didn't like Dwight. Well, I didn't like any Savior, but Dwight was the first one to be perturb me, so I've always bore a personal dislike for the man.

I hand over a loaf of bread which he cuts in half with a bread knife on the work table. I watch him with furrowed brows put the one half in his bag while sprinkling flour on the table for some dough I'm preparing to knead. My eyes move from the bag to him and to my surprise his eyes are glancing at me with furrowed brows that raise up when our eyes meet, as if to say 'What are you looking at?' I quickly dart my eyes back to the flour on the table, hoping he won't speak to me or tell Reed to suspend my points.

Thankfully, he puts the knife back on the table and just walks off without a word. I let out a sigh of relief through my nose. Now, I just have to hope he doesn't come back a second time later on like he sometimes does. I'm not sure if that counts as an interaction, but whatever it was is enough for one day. I really don't want to see that asshole more than once today.


	3. What I've Done

I made my way back to my quarter after work, powdered with flour I was eager to wash off with a shower. I squatted by my trunk and dug out my bar of soap, travel sized shampoo, and towel. The only clothes I have are the shirt and pants that I have on my back as well as one other shirt and a pair of leggings that I rarely wear just because I'd freeze my ass off in this goddamn factory. But, I can't wash my clothes until Thursday, so I take the clean clothes and put them with the rest.

The showers in the factory that are located in the bathrooms which used to be locker rooms for the factory workers. It cost points to bathe, not too much, but you only get 7 minutes to get clean. Unless you're a Savior, then you get 15. If you're Negan or a wife, you get 30 minutes, but they have their own private bathroom at the top of the Sanctuary. Water isn't necessarily scarce here, but we still conserve. Better safe than sorry.

"Hey, gorgeous, " Hal walks thorough the curtain over to his mattress under the '35' card.

"Hey, handsome," I retort. Hal is handsome, in fact he's the gorgeous one. His dark complexion is borderline flawless and his friendly temperament makes him ten times more lovely. I on the other hand look okay at best and my personality and countenance don't do me any favors. I continue digging for something else I need but I can't remember what.

I can feel Hal's eye bearing into my back and hear one of his feet tapping rapidly on the floor. Usually Hal and I can pass time together with out saying anything to each other. That's why I like him so much, he understands that I'm perfectly content with being quiet. He's a regular chatty- Cathy, but he respects that I like what little solitude I can have here, so we can go for hours without conversing. Our silence feels comforting instead of thick and awkward like with others.

But right now he seems bothered, so I turn to him and raise a concerned brow, waiting for him to say what's on his mind.

"Has Sharon come back yet from the coops?" He inquires.

"Uh, no. Well, not that I've seen," I respond bewildered, "Why?"

Hal stands up, pacing down the aisle of our mattresses twice. "We gotta go see where's she at, make sure she's okay."

"I'm sure she's fine," I answer, looking back at the stuff I laid on my mattress. I just want to take a shower, eat, and then go to bed. Which reminds me that I need something else before I go. What was it?

"She's not fine, mate, " He snaps lowly, causing me to look back at him," She told me this morning that Savior took a pair of her knickers."

He stole her underwear? Wait, that's what I need to bring with me to the showers. Clean underwear.

"What an asshole." I scoff, no wonder she was so upset.

"I think that arsehole, did something else to her," Hal whispered, "I get why she'd be bothered by him pocketing her underpants, but that bothered? She was near hysterical today and you saw how he touched her face."

I suddenly feel nauseous at Hal's words. Consent is a big rule around here. Rape is punishable by death, Lucille style. But fear of consequences doesn't always deter sickos with a sense of authority.

"You think we should go look for her?" I ask anxiously.

Hal nods, "I'll go look around the coops and the garden area where she works, you go look around the commissary and bathrooms. She sometimes cleans some of the Savior's rooms for extra points so maybe peer in the open doors, yeah? I'll come around that way if I don't see her outside," he promptly turns around to start looking, but her stops abruptly and looks back to meet my eyes, "Be careful," he warns before walking off.

I quietly groan when he's out of sight. I didn't think we'd actually go looking for her, especially alone. I'm a little hesitant to go sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, but Hal's concerns force me to muster up some strength to actually go look for Sharon. I grab my shower supplies without the panties and head towards the commissary. I bring my stuff so it doesn't look like I'm snooping around the halls.

The commissary has a line outside of people waiting to use their points. I scan through the line in hopes of finding Sharon. When I don't see her, I look over to open door of the commissary and wait to see if she exits out with some supplies. When an older man comes out along with a Savior who yells "Next!" I make my way towards the bathrooms.

As I nervously move through the halls I glance in at any of the open doors, trying not to look nosy or suspicious. I enter the bathroom and hear showers going. Fortunately, none of the women in there are Saviors, except for the one sitting on a bench down at the end. She's just here to keep time, occasionally looking at her wrist watch, and then going back to reading a book in her left hand. I clear my throat and ask if anyone has seen Sharon. The ladies who know who she is say no. I sigh, not sure of where else to look. I can't go to the higher levels with my shower stuff and pretend to heading to the bathroom. There are only the bathrooms are only in two places. The ones on the second floor and the executive bathroom which off limits to everyone except Negan and the wives.

"You getting in or what?" I jump at the harsh voice of the Savior whose looking at me over her book.

I shake my head quickly and back away towards the exit. "No, I changed my mind, sorry."

After leaving the bathrooms, I decide to head back to my space. Sharon is probably fine. She could've gone outside to smoke or something, or maybe Hal had better luck finding her. Three saviors stride towards me in the hall. I sheepishly keep my eyes down and try to shrink to avoid being heckled. A radio in one of their hands crackles, "Negan wants everyone whose going to be out front by the trucks in an hour."

"Roger that," one of the Saviors answers into the radio. One of them starts to whistle that fucking tune that sends shivers down my spine every time I hear it. And I hear it a lot. Even in my dreams.

I'm almost to the stairs that'll lead back down to the first floor when I heard some crying coming from behind a door on the left side. It sounds familiar.

"Please, p-please stop. Please, " I hear between sobs and my mouth falls open as I realize it Sharon. Oh, fuck, oh fuck.

"P-plea-" I hear her start to plead again but she interrupted by a sharp voice that low, but not low enough that I can't hear on the other side of the metal door.

"Shut the fuck up. Stop talking or I'll cut your throat, " the gruff voice threatens. This must be the Savior from this morning. Sharon's cries a little louder before the sound becomes muffled.

Like I said, before, I'm no savior. I usually keep my head down and try my hardest to be invisible, because its the smart thing to do. I know its weak and selfish, and I hate myself for it.

I stand there for what feels like hours, but likely only a few minutes, unsure of what to do. _Help her, Nan_ I hear Hal's voice in my head. That's what he would do, because he's a better person than I can ever claim to be. I set my things down gently to avoid making noise. I stick my hand above the door handle and tell myself on the count of five to open the door.

I count to five in my head, but I hesitate to grab the handle and open the door. I count to five two more times but remain frozen. _Do something you coward!_

I hear a sharp, painful cry come the room and I panic. _Okay, okay!_ I grab the handle and fling myself forward with the door. The light from the hall unveiled on the scene in the dark room like the opening of a curtain. I'm sickened by what I see, so much so, that I don't notice that the Savior has turned his head right in my direction. My eyes are fixed on Sharon who struggles underneath her attacker to pull down the ripped dress to cover herself. The Savior moves towards me which draws my attention to him, I step back into the empty hall. The Savior stalks forward, adjusting his pants. I look to his right hand and the buck knife he has gripped in it. He looks from side to side when he gets into the hall and upon realizing that no one is around, he lunges forward.

My neck has a hand around it instantly, holding me firmly against the wall behind me. I struggle to breathe and get free from the Savior's grasp. He shushes me softly as I gasp for air. He doesn't speak he just lifts the knife up to my chest and sticks the point below my right collar bone and presses down. I wince at the pain and feel blood start to trickle.

All of the sudden, the Savior pulls the knife away and loosens his grip. My eyes shoot open when he lets of a grunt as if in pain. Sharon is holding a hard- cover book, which she must of hit him with to try and stop him. "You little cunt," he growls as he starts to turn to go after her. _No!_

As he began to move to attack Sharon, I grabbed his shoulders to stop him and brought my knee up to this groin with much force. He doubles over in pain, dropping the knife which I kick away. I look at Sharon whose eyes are filled with terror. "Go!" I shrilly whispered at her and she frantically nods before hastily running off towards the stairs. I'm about to do the same when the Savior grabs my ankle and with one brute tug, floors me.

I try to kick and crawl away, but his grasp is hard and firm, preventing me from breaking away. I notice the knife I kicked is within my reach, so I struggle away from him as much as I can to get it. He let's go of me briefly to get up from the floor which allows me to scurry over to the knife. I hear him laugh behind me as he advances on me, grabbing my hair. I let out a whimper, but I get the knife which I desperately plunge behind me, hoping I hit him.

I feel the knife make contact and the Savior lets out a sharp grunt before releasing me. When him remove his hand from my hair, I scramble to my feet eager to run before he attacks again. I make it just around the corner when my eye catches a side glimpse of the Savior slumped on the ground. I know it seems stupid to turn around, but I do, glancing over the corner. That's when I see what I've done.

The Savior is sprawled out on the floor with his back against the same wall he had me up against, blood pooling under him. He sputters a bit, before his head hangs down. I wait a few minutes before I nervously walk toward him. I see the blood continue to drain out of the side of his thigh where I must have stabbed him. He's dead, motionless. For now. I just stand there staring at the body. I did that, I killed a Savior.

"What the fuck?!" An shocked voice pulls me out of the daze. I look away from the body, Dwight and a female Savior are at the other end of the hall. They swiftly make their way down the hall to the body and I with furious steps, both pair of eyes furiously set on me. Dwight has me by the arm and shoves me into the wall opposite of the body.

"What did you do?! He yells in my face. I look at him and then back down to the body where the other Savior is knelt, inspecting it.

"Hey!" Dwight shoves me into the wall again to get my attention, "Answer the question. What did you do?"

I just stare at him, trying to think of what I can say that'll help me. Dwight grabs his radio from his belt and brings it up to his lips. "This is D, we got situation on the second floor. Ronnie is dead."

A voice that I recognized to be Simon's answers after a few seconds. "How the hell did that happen?" He questions.

"Stabbed. By a baker girl," Dwight answers tersely. I can feel my cheeks heat up. _You know my name, you limp dick._

"He's a rapist," I manage to rasp out. Dwight's flicker to mine. I look at him firmly, not breaking my gaze. His face squints as he continues to look at me, taking in my words.

The radio cracks, "Negan said locked her up in the cell. He'll handle it when we get back." Dwight breaks eye contact to answer back, "Got it," he says briefly.

He looks down at the body. "Move the body. Have 'em add it to the wall," he tells the woman with no trace of sorrow in his voice. No sympathy for his fallen comrade.

Dwight guides me through the corridors that lead to the holding cells. We pass several people and I keep down to the side, focusing on Dwight's hand, once again, cuffed around my forearm. I can't even bring myself to look up with hopes of seeing Hal.

Dwight stops me in front of a door that he unlocks with keys that he produces from his pocket. He opens the door of the cell and thrusts me inside. I stumble in, almost losing my balance. The cell is a small, dirty room with no windows.

"Enjoy your stay, baker girl," Dwight calls behind me. I turn back with dagger in my eyes at him and his fucking snide tone.

He scoffs, amused by my glaring, "I mean it," he smiles, " enjoy it while you can, 'cause once we get back...well, I think you get the picture." He steps out of the door frame and shuts the door. The room turns pitch black with the exception of the line of light come from the bottom of the door.

The sound of the door locking makes tears form in my eyes. I fly forward and slam my fists to the door. "Fuck you! Fuck you!" I hoarsely yell. I feel tears fall down my face, ashamed at the failing in my voice. I saw Dwight's shadow move from the door, indicating he left.

 _I'll be okay._ I backed away from the door to the left side wall. I put my arm against trying to control my breathing which began to heave. What had I done? I killed that guy, a rapist. I told Dwight that, why didn't he tell Simon that the guy was a rapist? _Baker girl._ Was it because of the look I gave him this morning? Did I give him a look? Will he tell Negan that the guy was a rapist? The fucking bastard! I'm going to die for killing a rapist, by accident. I'm going to die because Dwight's a vindictive asshole! What's going to happen to me when Negan gets back from wherever he's going?

My arm goes limps and I slide down to the floor trying to force down all the panic that's surfacing and trying to surface. _I'm going to die._ Because of Dwight.


	4. He Helped You

**_Content warning: mentions of rape._**

 _The alarm clock goes off at four o'clock, two and half hours earlier than usual, making us both stir in bed. He lets out a heavy, tired sigh before reaching over me to turn it off. His arm gently falls on mine before he readjusts it around my waist, pulling me close to him. I stir again to move out from under his embrace and out of bed._

 _"Fifteen minutes. I hit the snooze button," he says sleepily, "Stay in bed." His arm softly tries to keep me in place, but I worm away._

 _"No, I can't. I'm covering Joy's shift, I gotta get up," I slide my legs out of the covers and sit up in bed, rubbing my fingers across my eyes. I feel his fingers caress my back gingerly._

 _"Joy needs to cover her own shifts for once," He grumbles, half asleep._

 _"Yeah, well I already said I would. Besides, I'm doing it for my grandparents, not her."_

 _I get off the bed and shuffle to the bathroom to take a shower. I know he's right. Joy should work her own shifts, but she always makes some excuse, usually about her kids, as to why she needs me to cover the opening shift at our grandparent's bakery. I always end up agreeing to cover the shift when my cousin needs me to because I know she just won't show up if I don't and then the workers will start calling my grandparents in the wee hours of the morning. My seventy-eight year old grandfather whose got bad arthritis will then have to get out into the freezing temperatures that banes the early mornings in February to drive all the way to the bakery to open shop. So, I am doing this for them. They're the only people who have ever made me feel truly cared about, besides him._

 _After I'm finish getting ready, I stroll out of the bathroom, smelling coffee coming from the kitchen. I glance over to the bed and see his back facing me. I pick my coat from off the floor where I dropped it yesterday afternoon. I shrug it on and then walk over to the bed. I crawl back on to it until I'm close enough to him to kiss his right shoulder. "You didn't have to get out bed to make me coffee. I was just gonna make some when I got to work," I murmur._

 _"I don't want you to crashing your car, because you fell asleep at the wheel," he responds with his eyes closed._

 _"I was on strong cold medication for a bad chest cold," I smile softly, kissing his sleeved shoulder again._

 _"Doesn't matter," his brows furrow, "it probably wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been driving so early to cover for someone who begged to have the opening shift. And I think the words your looking for are 'thank you'."_

 _"Thank you, " I kiss his head, "I'm also working my regular, so I won't be home until seven." He nods faintly and swallows, "Okay, see you then. Love you."_

 _I kiss his head one more time before backing off of the bed and turning towards the bedroom door. Just as I'm about to leave I hear a whistle coming from behind me which makes me stop dead in my tracks, a chill runs up my spine. Where have I heard that before?_

 _I spin around and scan the room. "You left your phone!" He calls out. My eyes flicker to the cell phone that's sitting on my night stand. It let's out an eerie whistle to indicate a text message. I don't remember setting it to that tone. I quickly make my way over to the phone, scooping it up and looking at the message on the screen. It reads: 'Hey, I need your address so I can send you guys an invitation!_

 _It's from my friend, Rosemary, who's apparently up this early, stressing about her wedding again. I go to text back the name of the street our apartment's on, but I'm drawing a blank. Why can't I remember?_

 _"Rosemary needs the name of the street we're on," I look over at the bed, waiting for him to reply._

 _"We're on Easy Street," he answers. Easy Street? That's not right, is it? Maybe I didn't hear it right. I open my mouth to ask him to repeat the street name when my phone starts ringing loudly with a cheery tone, making me jump._

I'm startled awake by the sound of music playing. I sit up from the dirty floor I was lying on and look around the dark room. It takes me a matter of seconds to remember where I'm at and why I'm in here. I let out a hard breath and swallow the lump that's starting to form in my dry throat. _I'm going to die._ _Because of Dwight._

' _We're on East Street,_

 _And it feels so sweet_

 _Cause the world is but a treat_

 _When you're on Easy Street!'_

Ha! I huff at the lyrics. Yeah, Easy Street. I pull my knees to my chest and place my hands on them. Whoever's blaring this obnoxious music must know there's a prisoner in here and is probably trying to drive me barking mad. That's what Hal would call it _,_ barking mad _._ I feel another lump in my throat. Is Hal worried about me? Does he know where I'm at? I'm suddenly nauseated at thoughts of Hal coming to look for me and running into Dwight, who will then take him to Negan, who will then grab Lucille, who will ultimately collide with Hal's head. Over and over and over again, with Negan laughing himself out of breath each time he brings her down onto Hal until there's no Hal left. Just scattered remains of what use to be someone; a very good someone. Maybe Dwight will drag me out to make me watch as punishment before Negan redirects Lucille to me. I picture Lucille swinging violently towards my face.

 _Stop!_ I jolt my mind from the chain of unwanted thoughts. _Don't do that, Nan. Hal's fine._ I hear a familiar voice inside my head that isn't mine. My mind starts to drift back to the dream I was having before we were on "Easy Street". It was more of a memory than I dream, but like a lot of memories that come back to me in dreams, it was disturbed with that creepy whistle or something else from the new world that never ceases to drag me out of any respite. My thoughts of his fingers sleepily brushing against my back are interrupted by a shadow sweeping over the light that filters from the hall at the bottom of the door. My heart drops with dread before picking up the pace. I hear the locks on the door slide and moments later the door opens abruptly, a figure stands in the frame. Dwight.

Heat rises into my cheeks as I stare that the man who brought me here last night. He looks intently at me, surveying my face. I keep my burning eyes on him. Dwight scoffs at me through his nose like I'm a lamb trying to pass for a tiger. That might not be too off track, because I'm definitely not fearless in this moment, even though I want to convey that I am. Not doing a job, apparently. After a minute, he steps into the room and strides up to me. He collects me in the usual manner of scooping me up by my arm. Dwight hauls me to me feet and his eyes trail to my neck. He shoves me forward and I obediently walk out the door.

The light from the hall makes my eyes ache and I blink to readjust my sight. Dwight grabs a fistful of my black t-shirt and firmly nudges me to continue down the left hall. I'm ushered past a door to the right of the room I was in and realize that's where the music is coming from. It has to be five times as loud in there and I wonder why anyone inside that room would have the volume up that high.

' _Cause the world is but a treat_

 _when your on Easy Street!'_

Dwight steers me through the factory in the direction we came from last night when he led me to the cells after killing that Savior. Like last night, I try to keep my head down to avoid the gaze of everybody we pass. From how the sunlight shines through the factory, I'm guessing its late afternoon. I've been in the cell for almost a full twenty-four hours. That goddamn whistle echoes through the air when a Savior notices Dwight and I walking by. He starts a chain as a few others begin to whistle back here and there to taunt me. I want to lift my head up boldly and continue to wherever Dwight's taking me. But the mocking makes my chest tighten and I know that if I look up, the tears will come. Nice job, tiger.

"Nan?!" I glance to the side when I hear Hal call my name. When I catch sight of him, he's standing over by his mattress with one hand pulling back the curtain, giving him view of what is likely a march to my death. Our eyes meet which makes tears build around my bottom lashes. I fixed my eyes back on the path Dwight's leading me, unable to look a second more at my friend. The factory air chills my cheeks where a few tears ran.

I suppose it's good thing that the Sanctuary is always so damn cold inside because it dries the tear streams from my face that I too afraid to try and wipe away, in case Dwight or another Savior saw and jeer me further. I'm almost grateful that Dwight hasn't said a word to me yet. I thought he would be an asshole and comment on how royally fucked I was like he had last night. Instead, he just holds on rigidly to my shirt, navigating me to the stairs to the second floor.

After two turns, we're suddenly down the hall way where the Savior died last night and I notice that the mess that resulted is gone with nothing but the faint smell of cleaner to indicate that something did happen here. The door of the Savior's room is open a bit and I hear the static of a radio communicate something that's its too low for me to hear. A gruff voice from behind the door answers back with a curt, "Alright, thanks Reed," and its enough to drop my heart into my stomach.

I start to stumble back on to my heels, as if trying to put the brakes on, to stop myself from going any further. Dwight forcefully encourages me forward when he feels me bump into him, trying to shrink away from who's on the other side of that door. In a matter of seconds, Dwight pushes the door all the way open and tells me to "step in" which I shamefully abide. My eyes immediately set themselves on the man whom I have dreaded to face ever since I got to the Sanctuary. I've never formally met him, just seen him stalk through the factory like he owns the place, which I guess he does. I've also been present when its time for him to make an example out of someone who didn't follow the rules.

"Well, hello there!" Negan flashes a toothy smile when he turns around from a small table that he towers over and sees me fearfully standing before him. His eyes give me the up and down ultimately settling on my face. I look down demurely and notice the he has Lucille in his gloved hand and she's got dried blood all over her barrel. Negan chuckles at my frightful admiration and lifts Lucille up a little. "Long night," he grins, "We had to explain how shit works to some people who thought they already knew how shit worked." I guess I know I why wasn't killed last night. I had to wait my turn.

"But they were wrooong," he laughs lightly. I look nervously between Negan and Lucille, fighting the urge to claw at the skin around my thumb with my index finger. "Ah, hell, " he lets out a heavy sigh, "I am _beat_! I was looking forward to hitting the fucking hay after a long night of schoolin' some sorry pack of assholes and then a long fucking drive back home." Negan's smile fades a little. "But then, I remember that the work day's not over yet, because one of my guys gets fucking stabbed to death by some baker that's down in my cells."

I lower my head meekly and stare at the floor like I'm a little kid being scolded by my father. "I was gonna just let you hang out down there a little longer, so I could maybe get a few hours of shut eye in before I start crackin' more skulls," he lets those words linger in the air for a few moments with a frown. His smile picks up and he points Lucille at me, "But my girl's already dirty, so I figured I might as well deal with you now."

I breathe through my nose in an attempt to appear calm, but fear rolls through me, unsteadying the exhale. I keep my head down, but keep glancing at a bloody Lucille. "Dwight, would you please be so kind as to bring the lady a chair."

I forgot that Dwight's in the room, but right after Negan addresses him, I can hear shuffling in the background. The sound of something metal abruptly clanks behind me, making me jump a bit. Negan smiles, amused by me trying to hold it together and not piss myself. "Sit down." Dwight orders. I eye the metal chair behind me and lower myself onto it, placing my hands in my lap. I elevate my head enough to meet Negan's eyes watching me keenly.

"Now that we're comfy, " he jests, knowing well that I'm anything but, "You wanna tell me why is it that you killed Ronnie?" He crouches down, using Lucille to steady himself. His eyes pierce me and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Negan's eye brows raise expectantly, waiting for me to spit something out. "I'm running a little low on patience here, sweetheart, so fucking make haste and answer the damn question. Why did you kill one of my men?"

"H-he, um, he tried to kill me," I finally answer, holding my hands together. Negan's brows knit together at my answer.

"After he...raped you?" Now my brows furrow, confused which Negan reads. "I thought you said she told you she was raped?" He says raising one brow as he moves his eyes behind me to Dwight. What?

"She did," Dwight responds with a perplexed tone. I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. Why would Dwight think _I_ was raped? And then dawns on me that I had told Sharon to run last night after I kneed the guy in the groin and when Dwight and that other Savior came into the hall I was the only one standing there, so Dwight must have assumed that I was raped by that prick when I told him he was rapist.

"Were you raped, darlin'?" Negan asks seriously.

"No...sir." Sir? What the fuck, Nan?

"That's not what you told me last night, " Dwight chimes in, agitated. He steps to the side, placing himself in my peripheral view.

I look over at him with a blank expression, " I never said that I was raped."

He goes to retort, but Negan puts his hand up to silence him. He stands up and rubs a hand down his face. He twirls Lucille in his hand as if thinking. "Was he or was he not a rapist?" Negan looks back at me with a hard, sober expression on his face.

"He was a rapist. But I wasn't raped." I clarify. I flicker my eyes towards Negan.

"Then how do you know he was a rapist?" Dwight asks, slightly scoffing.

"I know because I saw him, " I take a deep breathe, thinking about what I had seen. The look on Sharon's face. I exhale sharply, strangely more composed than I was when I first came in here. "I saw him raping another woman, who I and other people saw him take panties from earlier that morning in our quarters. I was on my way to take a shower, when I heard her crying coming from in here. So, I opened the door and I saw...Ronnie on top of her and she was crying, begging him not to. I think he might have hurt her before." I omit Sharon's name because I don't want her to be prodded with a million questions after what she's been through and the part where Hal and I formed a search party in order to keep Hal out of this, too. "When he saw me standing there, he got up and attacked me in the hall. I fought back and I managed to get the knife away from. I told the lady to run and when I tried to do the same, he dragged me down and I grabbed the knife on the floor and..." I sigh, replaying the whole thing in my mind. I killed a guy.

I never killed anybody before. I've always been sheltered from having to do it when the world turned to shit. First I had my boyfriend to protect me and then, I really hate to say it, I had the Saviors. "I didn't mean to kill him, I was just trying to get away." I finish, trying more to comfort myself than to plead my case. Even though he was a monster, I still can't shake the idea of killing someone.

"Huh," Negan huffs, "Well, that's a relief. Phew! I thought I was gonna have to do something ug-ly to that pretty little head of yours!" A wave of relief hits me hard in the chest. Does this mean I'm not going to die? "Je-sus," Negan's booming voice rattles me back to focus, "Would you look at _those_!"

He extends his ungloved hand and moves back the hair that's fallen out of my pony tail. I flinch when I feel his fingers brush against my neck but I try to disguise it as me tucking some stray hair behind my ear, ignoring the slight tug of a strand of hair as it drags through the ring that pierces my top left cartilage. "Shit. Ol' Ronnie really put the squeeze on ya, huh?" I feel a little soreness when his thumb moves against my skin. I must have bruising on my neck from where the son of bitch had his hand around my throat.

His eyes move down to my shoulder and I'm reminded of my wound there, I quickly put my hand over it in hopes to keep Negan from inspecting that, too. His smile extends to his eyes in a devilish manner, as he continues to inspect my neck. A little too lingering for my liking, but I hold back the disgust. "D, take...uh, what's your name, honey?"

"Nan." I look up with a little more brazenly than I should've allowed. Just because it looks like I'm gonna pull through doesn't mean I'm in the clear yet.

"Nan? What are you someone's grandmother?" He teases. "Take _Nan_ here to see Carson, so she can get checked out. Then tell Reed that our little hero has earned herself a day's worth of points for taking care of our cockroach problem." Oh, buddy, that was just one cockroach out of many.

He lifts my chin up and I try even harder not to sneer as I look curiously into his eyes wondering what he's doing. His smile fades for a second as he assesses God knows what on my face. Maybe I have bruising there too, although I don't recall being hit in the face. Negan takes a radio from his jacket pocket and extends it to Dwight who takes it. "Rest up sweetheart. 'Cause Dwighty boy is gonna come collect you tomorrow morning for your new job."

"What?" I rasp. I look over at Dwight who seems just as confused as I am.

"Your new job," he repeats gleefully, "You, my dear, took down a guy who easily had ninety-five pounds on you, I mean you nailed that fucker right in the femoral artery! Like _this close_ to his fucking nut sack, and I'm...a little impressed." He smirks. "You're still gonna work for points, but maybe if D gives me a good report, that can change. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna to retire for the night."

My eyes bolt back to him as he saunters pass me and walks out the door. No, no, no. He's going to make me work for him like Dwight and that motherfucking rapist?! He can't do that, can he? I mean, of coarse he can, but I thought you had to choose to become a Savior. Hot tears start filling my eyes when Dwight goes to grab my arm. I pull away from him before he's got a good enough grip on me and wrap my arms across my stomach. He looks at me incredulously. "I'm taking you to see Carson."

"I'm fine, I don't need to see him," I quietly snap, warmth fills my cheeks.

"Look, Negan wants you to see Carson, so you're going to see Carson." I shoot a burning glare at him before I bitterly submit and start to leave. What choice to I have? He reaches over to me again, but I shrug away and hold my arms tighter to me.

"I can walk without your help." The journey to the infirmary feels long and terrible. Dwight follows close behind me and I wish he would've just let me go on my own, but I know I'm being escorted there on Negan's orders. Still, it infuriates me. I just want to be as far away from him as possible and I know he has to want the same thing.

Carson feels around my head and checks my eyes to make sure I don't have a concussion, a "standard" he says for anytime someone's attacked. He's a polite man, which is why I stifle the urge to roll my eyes at his standard concussion check. I was in a cell for nearly a day and fell asleep several times. But I suppose Carson wasn't involved at that point and would've only checked on me if Negan gave the go ahead, which he didn't until now. After its confirmed that my head's okay, Carson examines my neck, sucking air in through his teeth at the bruises which I have yet to see. I pull my shirt down enough so he can inspect where the knife bit my flesh and luckily its just a knick so it takes him like two minutes to clean it and put a band aid over it. He gives me penicillin to fight any bacteria that may cause infection.

The exam feels like it takes hours, but it really only took fifteen minutes. When he's done, I thank him and slide off the table, eager to leave. He goes to give me a little index card that I'd typically give to Reed who would take off the points I used for the meds, but Dwight takes it and tells the doctor that Negan's not making me pay this time.

"No, I'll pay for it, " I snatch the card from Dwight's hand and head towards the exit. I'm not going to accept any special treatment from that man because he's "impressed" by my killing a guy. It feels dirty. Dwight's footsteps sound behind me and I stop abruptly and face him. "You don't need to walk me back to my quarter, I can manage on my own." I practically jog to the stairs before Dwight has time to respond. The lack of footsteps assures me he's left me alone. Finally!

As I tread back through the factory towards the floor level, I try to wrap my head around what just happened. So, Dwight did tell Negan what I said about that savior being a rapist. Whatever, he's still an asshole. _An asshole that helped you._ "Bullshit!" I curse under my breath. He didn't help me, he just told them what I said when he asked me what happened. That's not helping me, it's just giving a report. The thought of him coming to get me in the morning for the my new job assignment makes me groan inwardly that I'll have to be near him again. New job. Those words make my head start to pound. Why did I think that was going to get through this without being punished? I'm sure Negan thinks of it as an awesome opportunity, but I'm also sure he knows that I don't want it which probably just tickles his insides.

It's almost dark by time I make it back. I move back the curtain to my 'room' and am immediately startled out of my head. "Nan!" I shoot my eyes towards the sound of Hal's concerned voice and see him rush over to me and pull me into him. His arms hold me tightly and I uncomfortably place my arms behind him in return. Even though I'm almost to tears at how glad I am to see Hal, I can't dismiss how uneasy I am with affection. _Emotional limp dick._ I know. His hug thankfully doesn't last long as he steps back a bit to look at me with his hands on my arms.

"Are you alright? Sharon told me what happened and I went to look for you, but you were already gone and then people said they saw you being taken to the cells." Hal eyes travel down to my neck and his mouth slowly drops. "Fucking hell, Nan, " he says before pulling me in for another hug. I pat his shoulder to let him know I'm okay as well as to hopefully get him to let go.

"I'm okay, Hal." I assure him weakly. His pulls back again and trails my face. I give him a barely there smile. It's the best I can do right now. "What happened? I convinced Sharon to tell Reed that Savior attacked you both last night when we saw you pass through with Dwight a while ago." I'm surprised that this news. I tried to refrain from telling Negan about Sharon, or at least not to tell him her name. I didn't want her to have to stand in front of Negan and have to relive yesterday's ordeal . I admire her for mustering the courage to tell Reed what happened in order to try and help me.

Speaking of Reed, I look around the area to see if I can spot him to give him my bill. He's most likely gone off to make his rounds to divvy out points and take inventory of the commissary. I place the card on the turned over crate I use as a night stand, deciding to give it to him tomorrow. What the fuck? Sixteen points for one penicillin? Makes me want to throw it up and give it back.

"Nan?" I realize I dazed off for a second and look back at Hal. "What happened? Where'd he take you?"

I grab my water jug from my trunk and down nearly all of it. I wasn't given food or water while I was locked in the cell; nobody came to check on me until Dwight an hour or so ago. After putting the lid back on, I sit down on my mattress and tell Hal about what happened. Killing the savior, being thrown in the cell, explaining everything to Negan, whom I was certain was going to kill me, and even how he said I'm going to start a new job with Dwight tomorrow. I feel nausea swirl in stomach at that unpleasant reminder. Hal looks down at the floor contemplating all that I've just told him.

He stands up from the spot on my mattress where he sat beside me. He walks over to his mattress and sits down, resting his arms on his knees. "What do you reckon he'll have do?" I shrug at his question, not really wanting to think about it. I notice other people around us are looking at me like I'm a biter. They probably figured I would be by now and made to stand guard outside on the fence. "Well, whatever it is you got to just grin and bear it, mate. Do what you're told." My eyes flash back at him. His face is solemn.

I snort haughtily at that, rolling my eyes in disbelief. Fucking no I don't, Hal. "Yes, you do, " He sharply says as if he read my mind, " Look-"

"Fine, Hal! I'll grin and bear it or whatever, okay? Jesus." I pull my shoes off and lie down on my bed with my back to him, in hopes of ending the conversation.

"I'm just say saying, save yourself the headache, gorgeous." Hal sighs before leaving me alone for the night. I hope his use of the word 'headache' isn't suppose to be funny.

I close my eyes and try to nod off which is usually easy for me to do. Its kind of ironic that I can fall asleep so seamlessly, yet feel like I'm being exorcised awake all the damn time. I spend hours trying to go to sleep, but I'm too disturbed by what Negan said to me. _"You're still gonna work for points, but maybe if D gives me a good report, than can change."_ That can change. My life as it stands now can change and I don't want it to.

I keep my eyes closed to deter anyone from wanting to talk to me. Not like anyone ever really wants to talk to me anyway, but I don't need any nosy nellies pretending to care about me just so they can get the low down on what happened. My mind wanders to what Dwight said to me last night. Why did he imply that I was going to die if he knew Negan wouldn't kill me for killing a rapist? Then again, maybe he didn't know that I would live. Maybe he was hoping I wouldn't. He did seem a little thrown off when Negan said that he'd come and get me in the morning. Nice try, asshole.

When its been long enough and I'm sure Hal as well as most others around are asleep, I roll over on my back, pulling my blanket up to my neck. I should really take a look for myself at the bruises that three sets of eyes have pointed out to me today. _Four sets of eyes_. What? I can hear his voice again, always taking space in my head, always trying to look out for me even after he's long gone. I count off in my head. Negan, Carson, Hal. That's three. _Dwight._ Huh? _He looked you over when he came to get you from the cell. That makes four._ No. I flip myself over on my stomach to try shake the thought of Dwight from my head. He was just enjoying the sight of me shrunken on the dirty floor of the cell he put me in, because he's just as cruel as Negan and the rest of them. _Stop, Nan, he helped you_. My eyes loll close as I drift off to sleep. _He helped you, Nan._ Shut up.

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter, if so, feel free to review!**


	5. It Never Ends

"Shit!" I slam the lid of my trunk down in frustration which makes Hal look up from his powdered eggs. I remain squatting by the trunk with my arms draped over my knees. I dig at my thumb while thinking about how stupid I was.

"Alright?" Hal swallows a spoonful of eggs.

"I lost my shower stuff," I respond flatly as I tug the hair tie out my hair. I comb my fingers through my hair in an attempt to try and calm down. Until now I had completely forgotten that I sat all my shower supplies down by the door that Sharon was assaulted behind two nights ago.

"You think somebody nicked 'em?"

"No. I left them by the door of that Savior I killed." I stand up and put my hands on my hips, still looking irritably at the trunk. I got up myself out of bed earlier than usual in order to hit the showers before Dwight comes to collect me for my new job.

"You can borrow my stuff." Hal offers like its nothing. I know it doesn't seem like a big deal to lend someone your stuff, but life is hard when you work your ass off for travel size toiletries that may not be as available in the commissary that next time you run out.

I shake my head, "It's okay, I'll just wait until tonight." The commissary is only open for three hours every day after everyone is allowed to stop working and points are distributed. If you don't get in line as soon as possible, you may not make it up to the door in time to get the shit you need, so hopefully I'll be done with whatever grueling job Dwight will have me do in time. For right now, I'll just use some of my water with my wash cloth.

"Well, at least change out of the those dingy rags you call clothes." He smiles at my floured, cell-dirty clothes.

"Can't. My only other clothes were with everything else." I scowl at the how dirty the cloth has become with two days of grime all over it.

"Oh- hoho! You're having the worst luck lately, eh?" Hal chuckles. I'm glad he can find the humor in my piss-poor situation.

"Lately?" I scoff dryly. Hal laughs a little louder at that.

I guess I could put on clean underwear since that's all I have. I managed to build up to owning seven pairs, so that I can change my unmentionables daily. That's the closest thing I have to luxury I have in this world. _That can change._ Negan's words send a shiver through me, making me roll my shoulders. People around Hal and I stir a little more quietly than usual. I mean, we point-earners are always quiet as can be as to not attract unwanted attention from the Saviors, but the chatter that typically brushes through here in the mornings and evenings is almost non-existent. Instead, everyone's just busying themselves with getting ready in near silence, or walk through the curtains and sheets that divide the living spaces. The only talking I hear is hushed voices that come from a few people that are also looking over my way, most are just glancing at me. What?

"Here, you can borrow this until wash day," Hal tosses a dark gray t-shirt at me which falls to the floor since I wasn't paying attention, "Nice, catch."

I reach down and scoop the shirt up while keeping my gaze on the people whispering. They don't seem happy with me which confuses me because I don't think I've ever spoken to anyone in depth enough to rub them the wrong way. The only person I ever really talk to is Hal and he never takes offense to anything I might say that seems a little thoughtless. "Who's pissed in their porridge?"

Hal looks briefly over his shoulder and then back at his eggs like he knows but doesn't want to say. "The Saviors, every fucking day," He says dismissively. Normally, I'd agree but not this time, not when I'm catching the stink eye from a lot of folks.

"Really? 'Cause if looks could burn -" Hal interrupts with a snort, "You'd look like Dwight?" He looks up at me with one brow raised.

"Hal," I tilt my disapprovingly. I may not like Dwight, but I still don't believe in taking cheap shots. "Seriously, what's every one staring at me for?" Hal's smile falters a bit and his eyes lose humor and become more pitying. He opens his mouth to speak but shut it when his eyes set behind me. I twist my waist a little to see what he's looking at and to my dismay I find Dwight stepping in from behind the curtain. I think I'd rather it have been a roamer. I shift back to facing Hal who appears to giving me a cautious stare, as if advising me to behave.

"Let's go, 34." Dwight said clearly annoyed. Looks like someone isn't too happy about having to be shadowed by a baker girl who got lucky. The feeling is way mutual, pal.

I toss Hal his shirt back and mouth 'see ya later' at him which he responds to with a nod.

Dwight and I do our usual of walking in silence through the factory, except this time I'm following behind him. I can't ignore the displeased faces of other point-earners that watch me as I willfully go with a Savior to what can only be a cruel task to be done. I think I can guess why everyone's giving me the stink eye. We pass a couple of Saviors whom either pay us no mind, or catch my attention with their leering eyes.

Once we're in the part of the factory where the bakers are stationed, Dwight turns to go towards one of the tables. I lag a little to avoid being right up at the baker's table with him as he takes his usual helping of bread. I've never been chummy with the other bakers, but I still don't want them to think I'm proudly taking up with the Saviors like Dwight. Some of them glance my way but I avert my eyes and bite anxiously at my bottom lip. All of the sudden, heated voices arise beyond the table which causes most of us, Dwight included, to look up at the commotion. An inventory taker, Russell, I think his name is throws his shirt at a Savior in a fed up kind of manner. The Savior, who's accompanied by two others, pitches it back at him and inaudible words are exchanged before Russell is decked by the Savior. The three then form a small ring and take turns striking and pushing him to the next guy for another hit. After a few, long seconds Russell is on the floor, taking kick after kick and stomp after stomp by each of these savages. Dwight turns away and walks back over to me, closing a small notepad and putting it in his messenger bag.

"C'mon," his voice pulls my eyes away from this merciless beating, "we got work to do." I can feel my anxiety creep over me and it's as if I can't get out of there fast enough. Still, I tread carefully in Dwight's shadow to prevent myself from appearing as scared and weak as I am. I don't pretend to hold out hope for Russell since I can't imagine him recovering from the brutal beating those bastards are still continuing to administer. I can hear the sickening sound of boot on bone as Dwight and I make our exit.

We stop at a door that opens up to a reveal a closet that has a counter and sink with over hanging cupboards and shelves on the adjacent wall. Its hard to imagine what purpose this room would have served back in the old world. Dwight snaps his fingers to get my attention and motions me over. I step over to observe him taking a single paper plate from stack inside one of the cupboards and a can of dog food from the other. He then takes out a stale roll of bread that's cut into sandwich halves from his bag and places it on the plate. I crane my neck to the side to catch a better glimpse of him opening the dog food with a can opener that was in the small sink and then slopping a huge spoonful of it onto one half of the roll. Gross!

After making the dog food sandwich, we make our way down the corridors that will take us to the cells. Dwight whistles to himself which to my relief isn't that awful tune that the Saviors are so keen on. Even though I'm going as a worker and not a prisoner, I still feel apprehensive about going there. What could we be doing with this repulsive sandwich in hand? Dwight stops at the door that was playing that annoyingly cheery song yesterday and takes out keys from his pocket to unlock the door. I feel so stupid for not putting it together until now that this room was another cell. Figures, no one could actually enjoy that song. Dwight opens the door the all the way, however I can't see who's inside because he's standing right in my view.

Dwight steps inside with the sandwich. I meekly approach the cell as if there's a biter in there. Or maybe the Saviors caught a werewolf and are feeding it dog foo- "Oh!" I swiftly turn my head to shield my eyes from the naked man sitting in the cell. "Go wait back in the hall." Dwight orders from the door frame more sternly. I look at him and then slowly look down to see the man glancing up at me. I step backwards into the hall and watch as Dwight hold out the plate to the man who takes the sandwich and begins to eat it. Dwight walks out and shuts the door. I suppress the urge to gag as Dwight continues his work, pressing a button on a CD player that's hooked up to the wall. The sound of that one song begins reverberating through into the cell room. I knew that had be some torture technique.

I try to control my breathing to stifle the possibility of throwing up. Dwight gives me a look like I'm pathetic which I can't honestly argue with. I might be not be the most compassionate, personable of people, but I've never been so distant that I could shrug off cruelty such as this. And yet, I have to keep calm enough to not seem weak, which once again I'm not doing a good job of. "Hey!" Dwight harshly calls at me. I swallow all the anger and shame I feel and meet his eyes.

"Don't feel sorry for that asshole," Dwight points to the door, "he did this to himself." I look incredulously at Dwight. I have no clue who this guy is, I've never seen him around before, and I don't know what he's done, but I hardly think he deserves to be stripped down to nothing and fed dog food. Dwight reads my face and huffs like he's annoyed that I don't believe him. "Doesn't matter," he mutters, looking at his wrist watch, "Be back here it two hours." With that said, he stalks down the hall, not caring if I'm following or not.

I had a feeling that I'd be doing something terrible and Savior-like but this was a curve ball for me. I'm so ashamed for having had to witness Dwight feed that guy a dog food sandwich because it makes me feel like I participated. _That's because you did._ Not by choice. The living quarters are practically empty when I shuffle back there to lie down until I have to go back. As soon as I move through the curtain and plop myself down on my bed, a soft voice calls my name. Sharon timidly stands over by her space, fiddling with her hands. I nervously smile back at her.

"H-hey," She musters and cautiously sways a little like I'm going to bite.

"Uh, hi, Sharon," I greet back.

"Can I, um, can I sit with you for a minute?" I bite the corner of my lip to mask the discomfort in that idea. I kind of wanted to be alone and I'm not so good with being a consoling peer. I reluctantly nod and cross my legs so that she has room to sit. She has a seat really close to me and I fake a smile so I don't appear uncomfortable, which she returns. We both look down at our hands for awhile, before Sharon finally speaks.

"How are you? You're not hurt are you?" She asks. I shake my head and clear my throat.

"No, I'm okay," I pull my ponytail to the side and bunch up my shoulders to hide the bruises on my neck, "What about you, Sharon? Are you okay?"

Sharon weakly smiles and mouths 'yeah' but its not convincing. Her face is drained of all color with the exception of the red rings under her eyes and nostrils. "Have you gone to see Dr. Carson?" I inquire, hoping that Negan was gracious enough to let her have a free exam like me. Oh, yeah, I still need to give Reed the card so I can pay for the medicine I used.

"No, I'm fine, really. I don't think I need bother wasting points for nothing." She responds low. She then leans in a little and whispers, "I didn't tell anyone what happened. Except Hal...and Reed. Well, I didn't tell Hal I was...uh, he asked me if I saw you and I told him that Ronnie attacked us and that you saved me and he just kind of knew that I was...assaulted," Her voice shakes a little, but she clears her throat to compose herself, "And when we saw you yesterday being taken somewhere by D, Hal told me that I should say something to try and help you."

"Reed didn't tell Negan your name?"

"No, he just radioed him and reported what I said, but he excluded my name and number." That was weirdly kind of Reed to be discreet with Sharon's identity. Reed is generally more mild-mannered than any other Savior around here, still I wouldn't necessarily approach him with any HR problems.

"Thank you," I earnestly look her in the eye, "for what you did." Sharon's eyes get a little misty and without warning she leans closer and hugs me tightly. Like the socially flaccid person that I am, I don't hug her back, but I don't pull away or try to get her to release me. The hug is not terribly long because a noise startles Sharon. She rigidly straightens up and her eyes focus on something to the left. I follow her gaze to see Dwight searching through a crate that's under the placard 39. I thought when he told me to be back by the cells in two hours, it meant I wouldn't have to see him until then. I can't stop from watching him dig through the crate of whoever lives under 39. Wait, 39? Russell lives over there. Or lived. That beat down this morning couldn't have been survivable. Fucking animals. Dwight pulls out two jars that he puts in his bag. As he goes to leave, he briefly peers over at me, but instead of the indifferent or smug expression he usually wears, he seems to abashed. What, is he ashamed to be seen taking shit from a possible dead man? Like Sharon or I are going to have the ovaries to tsk-tsk at him for doing what others of the same brood do all the time with out second thought. When he's left Sharon gets up from my bed, "I should head back to the coops," she tells me before she hastily scurries off.

My plans on laying in bed for the remainder of my time are interrupted again after ten minutes, but this time by the grumbling of my stomach. How long has it been since I last ate? I crawl over to my trunk and open it to find some food I have tucked away. I shove some things around in search which prompts me to notice the two things I have of sentimental value at the bottom. One of the items isn't even mine, its the picture that was left by whomever was '34' before I was. I grab a half sleeve of nearly stale crackers and shut the trunk before I look too long at the other which is mine. I suddenly have the impulse to leave my quarter, so I head towards the big factory doors that will take me outside. It'll be nice to get some fresh air.

The growling cloud of roamer noise blocks out any chance of silence outside, but I still step out and close the door behind me. I look at the barrier the dead create around the Sanctuary as well as the sorry saps that have to add more of those things to the fence. They're made to wear sweat suits with letters spray painted on them, who knows what they stand for, and herd a roamer with a bucket or something over its head to an area on the fence where they chain them up to. Some of the dead aren't even pinned to the fence, they're either chained on some cement dividers or impaled on a piece of rebar or some shit. To no surprise, I see a corpsed Russell chained around the waist to a divider.

"Need something?" I jump at the sound of someone's voice on my left. I whip my in that direction and who else but Dwight is sitting on the cement steps with a sandwich in his hand. What am I a Dwight magnet? I shake my head at his question. "Then what are you doing out here?"

I'd love to tell him to mind his own fucking business, but when a Savior asks a questions, I and every other point-earner answers. Dwight's authority is as good as Negan's authority to people like me. I lift my right arm enough to reveal my crackers. "I was just coming outside to eat. Is that allowed?" That came out way more snappish than I meant. He gives me the up and down before facing back in his original direction and continues to eat his sandwich, which by the way looks edible unlike the shit we fed that guy. Although my head's telling me to go back inside, I sit by the yellow railing anyway and eat my crackers. I half expected Dwight to leave himself, knowing that I was going to stay outside, but he doesn't. We eat in our separate spots and ignore each other's existence. I curiously watch the fence workers move through the maze of rotting dead. Those unlucky sons of bitches have one of the worst jobs here. As I'm observing, my eyes land on this one biter who's impaled on rebar. It keeps attempting to stand up on its deteriorating legs, but can't stop sliding down with only one leg preventing it from being brought all the way down.

The biter's repetition disturbs me and without thinking I blurt out, "Is he kneeling?" The way that thing is carrying on makes it strangely appear as if it's kneeling. Like the living do.

"What?" Dwight questions as he walks over to me.

I point out to it without breaking my focus, "There." Dwight stares at the thing with as much curiosity or concern as I do. We stay like that for a few minutes before a beeping sound disrupts us.

"Time to go." Dwight looks at his watch. I don't move right away, so Dwight puts a hand on my shoulder to turn me away from the fence. "It's not kneeling, alright? Let's go." He says while pushing towards the doors.

"It never ends." I despairingly realize under my breath. I don't know if I said it loud enough for Dwight to hear, but he looks at me as he's opening the door and back at the dead.

The rest of the day includes feeding the naked man in the cell and replaying the song over and over. As soon as Dwight gives me the go ahead to call it a day, I bee line it for my mattress, completely disregarding my need to buy new clothes and shower supplies. I make it back before Hal does and throw my sheet and blanket over my body so I won't have to talk about what I did today with Dwight _. I treated a man like an animal._

The next day, I borrow Hal's clean shirt and vaguely tell him what I did the day before. "Just stupid errands here and there." I say reservedly before reverting back to silence. I keep trying to tell myself that I don't have a choice in the matter, but I still feel gross.

I despondently trail behind Dwight and barely pay attention to where we stopped before we return to the cells. Dwight unlocks the door and throws one of the gray sweat suit at the man. "Get dressed," he orders. After the man is dressed in the filthy clothes that have an orange 'A' sprayed on them, Dwight clutches the sweatshirt and moves him down the hall. All three of us trek to the infirmary in silence. I catch Dwight occasionally glance over his shoulder as if to make sure I'm keeping up. Every time our eyes meet, I blankly refocus my gaze ahead.

The door to the infirmary is closed so I move around the two men to open it and walk in first. I'm a little embarrassed once I get in because Carson already has a patient with him and I feel rude for intruding. "Carson!" Dwight guides the man into the room and stops when he finally notices the woman sitting on the exam table. I look to him for instruction, and to my bewilderment, he looks taken aback by her. "Hey, D." Her silky voice greets. She seems uncomfortable by his presence.

"Hey." He says softly.

"I was just finishing up." Carson interrupts over by the cabinet. The woman stands up from the table and furrows her brows at the sight of the man in the sweats. "Daryl," she calls him with a tone like 'long time no see.' She knows this guy?

"Don't talk to him." Dwight snaps at her before she has time to say more to the man, Daryl, I guess is his name. She steps to the side so Dwight can bring Daryl over to the table. I awkwardly put my hands behind my back and try to shrink out of sight. However, the woman briefly looks my way and politely smiles before turning back to Dwight. Dwight notices something on the table and then gives the woman a worried look. She lowers her eyes like she's embarrassed.

"It's negative." She sound ashamed.

"Ah, well, maybe next time." Dwight replies nonchalantly, turning his back to walk over to the medicine cabinet. By the way she's dressed, a short sundress and wedged heels, it's not hard to figure out that this woman is one of Negan's wives. No other women at the Sanctuary dress in nice clothes. For one, there's only basic clothing in the commissary and even if there was fancier clothes, there'd be no point in having them just so they could get ruined while working. The pretty clothes are reserved for the wives as part of the privilege of belonging to Negan.

The woman approaches Daryl and gets close to enough to whisper. "Look, whatever they say, just-,"

"I said don't talk to him." Dwight growls, shooting her a searing glare. She closes her mouth and then leaves promptly. Whoa. I didn't think anyone could or would have the guts to talk to one of the wives that way. Carson lifts up Daryl's shirt and begins tending to a wound I wasn't aware he had.

"It'll get better, if you let it," Carson claimed after a minute or two, "Negan will take care you. Trust me." I let out a bitter guffaw at that statement. Negan will take care of you. That's a riot. When I see that all three men are looking over, Dwight giving me a look of warning, I bashfully clear my throat and inspect my feet. _Get it together, Nan._ Dwight reports to Negan.

The medical exam only takes about twenty minutes, so once Daryl's all patched up, the three of us leave shortly with only Dwight knowing where we're heading to next. We pass two people mopping the floors when out of nowhere, Dwight stops and I lightly bump into him. When I see that he's on one knee and that he dragged Daryl down with him, deja vu strikes me and I quickly do the same.

"Ha ha ha! Dwighty boy!" Negan's voice bellows. My eyes have sight of his boots, so I don't look up at him in hopes of avoiding any glance that would prompt him to speak to me. "I need to talk to my associate, so go about your business," he addresses the two moppers who get up from kneeling and move their mops and buckets down the hall, "except you. You stand right over there," pointing Lucille to the wall behind him which a Savior known as Fat Joey walks over to.

Dwight stands himself and Daryl up and he starts to take Daryl over to a chair at the corner of the hall. Assuming I would be told to stand with him, I get up to go with them when Negan blocks me with his body. A little too close than I'd prefer, but Negan doesn't really understand or care about personal space. "And how are you today, Nan?" I look up to his face and fight to not wince at his charming, wolfish grin.

"I do so hope you're behaving yourself, because D will tell me if you're not," his smile mischievously grows, "then we'd have to punish you, now wouldn't we?" His tone suggest vulgarity which makes me want to roll my eyes. Instead, I just give him a blank. disinterested look and go around him to get to where Daryl was sat. I hope that wasn't too bold. Negan chuckles and Dwight brushes passed me to speak with Negan. I can't make out what their talking about and I'm not really concerned about it either. Instead, I stand by Daryl, occasionally turning my attention over to Fat Joey who has a gun drawn on Daryl. He smugly grins at me which I combat with a stoic face. I glance over at Daryl whose long hair makes it hard to see his face, although I do notice that he's staring through the open door that's in front of him. It makes me look in too and I can see that it's a break room turned bedroom. There's a mattress that's bigger than the ones we have downstairs, elevated by two pallets. The room also has a counter with a sink, a fridge, what looks to be bookcase full of books, a large armchair and...do my eye deceive me, a television? Does it work? Does the fridge work for that matter?

Dwight returns and looks at Daryl and I, me being the only one out of us two who realizes. He looks at what our eyes were fixed on and then roughly snatches up Daryl from the chair. "C'mon." He grunts. I think I might know who lives there. It makes me angry to know that Dwight, or any Savior has such a big space all to themselves while the rest of us have little to no room or privacy for ourselves.

Dwight has us out by the fences with a cross bow in one of his hands. I guess we're just showing Daryl what task he'll be doing as we all watch as the fence workers move as rapidly as possible to put more dead around the entrance as well as avoid getting bit by the ones already there. A worker is grabbed by one and he struggles to break away from its grip. Dwight lifts up the bow and fires a bolt through the chain-link fence and straight into the rotter's head, allowing the man to pull free.

"You know, I'm gettin' the hang of this, " Dwight addresses Daryl tauntingly. Why would Daryl care? He abruptly grabs Daryl and practically slams him into the fence. He points over to Russell's growling body, "That's you, asshole. Unless you're smart, it's your choice. You can be like them, or me. Or them." I glance over at the corpse and feel a lump forming in my throat. What he said not only applies to Daryl, but to me as well. One minute you can be alive, the next minute you're dead and working on the wall like Russell and that kneeling corpse and... _him?_ I'm disgusted at the sight of Ronnie, dead and armless, chained to a rusted old car on cinder blocks.

It shouldn't be a shocker to me that he's there. I do remember Dwight telling that female Savior to do away with him. I just hate to see him there and be reminded of what he did to Sharon and how he tried to kill me. He should've been burned like some of the others that die here, that way he'd be charred beyond recognition and disposed of some place no one has to look at him. Is it okay to think like that? I force myself to look away and suddenly realize that Dwight is staring back at me. I sharply turn my face from him.

Once we're done outside, Daryl is taken back to the cell which Dwight throws him in. "Make it easy on yourself," Dwight tells him, sounding oddly genuine in this advise. I lean against the wall on the other side of the door, putting myself out of sight. For the first time, I hear Daryl speak.

"I ain't ever gonna kneel." He says gruffly.

"Yeah, I said that, too." Dwight retorts which makes me look at the door that shields me from view.

"Yeah, I know." Daryl growls. What does he mean by that?

Dwight sighs, "See that's the thing man, you don't. But you're gonna." He then close the door and his eyes flicker to me. I hang my head down like I got caught eavesdropping, but he doesn't say anything. Just turns that fucking song back on for Daryl to suffer through.

"Hey, D!" A female voice calls out from behind me and I hear footsteps coming up. Its the Savior woman from the other night and she looks happy to see him. He grins and says 'hey' back. "New guy close to breaking yet?" She asks without a hint of being troubled by the notion of torturing a guy. She turns to me and her smile drops.

"He's a tough one to break, but he'll learn soon enough." Dwight answers her. She still has her eyes on me. I keep attempting to get her to look away by leading in example, but her eyes are glued to me.

"This is Nan," Dwight says to her, almost like he's trying to get her to stop staring at me. She finally ends the one person staring contest and nods at Dwight's information. She scratches her nose ring for a moment before looking back at me, this time to speak.

"You're the girl that killed Ronnie, " she says emotionlessly, "the baker?" I nod. She nods in return, looking down as if she's thinking. "Wait here a minute." She strides down the hall she came from and disappears around a corner. I wait, because it wasn't a suggestion and because I'm a little interested in what she's doing. But mostly because it was an order. Dwight clears his throat which gains my attention to him.

"You're, uh, doing pretty good so far."

"Oh." Is all I could say to that weirdly sincere-sounding evaluation. How could I mess up following him around all day? The music prevents any awkward silence from forming.

"Here," I turn around to have the Savior woman shove some things into my hands, "these were by that asshole's door the other night. I figured they were yours." I look down into my arms to find my spare clothes and shower supplies. I look up at her unsure of what to say. She kept my stuff for me? I thought she would've just taken it and kept it for herself. Then again, she probably has better, non travel sized stuff.

"Uh, thank you." I mutter. She mouths 'yep' coolly.

"So, D, I was wondering if you were up for a rematch tonight? See if I can finally kick your ass." She smirks. Someone has a thing for Dwight. I'd say who it is if I knew her name.

"You can come back in an hour." Dwight nods his head for me to leave. Don't have to tell me twice! As I round the corner I faintly hear what sounds like Dwight attempting to let the woman down gently, claiming to have "some shit" he has to do. Huh, I figured he wanted me to become scarce for the opposite reason.

I'm glad I got my stuff returned to me, it saves me the pain in the ass of having to stand in line at the commissary. The bathrooms are empty with the exception of the one Savior that monitors water use. I tell her my number so she can write it and the points value down on paper for me to hand to Reed. I undress in the shower stall which has doors to block my nudity from peeping toms that wander by the bathroom door. I inwardly moan at the feel of the room temperature water beating down on me. It's tempting to just stand under the stream for the full time, but I know I have to wash up. I do so as fast as I can with hopes of being done quick enough to have time left over to mindlessly stand in the shower. While washing my hair, I think about the woman in the infirmary and how Dwight snapped at her for speaking to Daryl. And the strange back and forth Dwight and Daryl had just a few minutes ago. Dwight was rough on Daryl, but he also seemed, for a second, to be trying to help him _. Like he helped me?_ No. That remains to be unclear. He did say I was doing good so far. I would've imagined he would've given me a bad report, regardless of how I was doing, in order to shake off the responsibility of having to string me along. Maybe he is trying to help me. The water shuts off and the lady tells me to get out.

I briskly walk to my quarter to put my things away and, in doing so, spot Reed. I go over to him and tap his shoulder to get his attention. He looks at me with raised eye brows, waiting for me to tell him what I want. I hand the card Carson gave me yesterday and the one from the showers. He reads them both and flips through the papers on his clipboard. "One eight-five minus ten brings you down to one seventy-five, 34," he calculates in his head.

"Um, actually I should only have a hundred and fifty-nine points," Reed's brows knit together at my correction which prompts him to scan his clipboard more carefully, "Ten points for the shower and then sixteen for the meds." I explain. Reed nods and then drop the papers back into place.

"Oh, well, D told me that Negan wasn't charging for the exam and to not dock you for it," Reed turns to leave, but I open my mouth to protest, "look, if Negan says its free, its free. Just accept his generosity and fucking move on, Nan." With that, Reed walks off.

I decide to go back early to the cells after talking to Reed. I grabbed a lemon protein bar from my trunk to eat on the way there. I love lemons, but protein bars are always disgusting, no matter what flavor they are. I eat it because it keeps hunger at bay for a while. I could spend some points on vegetables or fruit, but those are expensive as holy hell and I don't have enough points for hot meals. Hot meals aren't always hot, per say but its what we call the meals that people prepare or, food like vegetables and fruits that are luxuries nowadays so if you have to work for points, they're pricey. Its easier on the points to just buy stale or non-perishable things that you can stock with your other stuff.

I go to turn the hallway corner when a body suddenly collides into mine. I stumble back a little, nearly falling, when a pair of hands steady me by my arms. "Sorry, I didn't see you." Its Dwight. I swallow my bite of protein bar and stare up at him, confused. I would've expected to get yelled at for not watching where I was going, even though it wasn't my fault. Dwight lets go of me and reaches into his pockets.

"We got a Grab n' Go, so I got to go bring 'em back, " He says fishing gout keys from his pocket and handing them to me, "Go feed Daryl, push the button on the CD player, and make sure you lock the door. I shouldn't be long." He heads towards the factory entrance before I have time to respond. He's leaving me to watch over Daryl by myself? This must be some kind of test to see if I'll actually do as I'm told without Dwight looming over my shoulder.

Daryl's lying on his side when I open the door. I wait for him to turn around before I anxiously step in, but only enough to extend my arm out with the plate in hand. He takes the plate from me and sets it down beside him, looking at me blankly, probably confused by the absence of Dwight. It's difficult to know what he's thinking since his face expression hasn't changed once since I met him. Two steps back and I'm in the hall again about to close the door. As I go to close it, I feel the need to let this man know that I'm not like Dwight or Negan. "I'm sorry," is all I can think to say before I shut the door and lock it.

Twenty-five minutes ago by in my quarter when I realize I didn't turn on the music. Shit, I guess I have to go back because if anyone finds out I didn't, then Daryl and I might be neighbors again. As I wind back down the hall, I see Fat Joey heading in my direction. I play it cool as if I'm not heading there because I forgot to do something, but Fat Joey barely acknowledges me. Just gives me an indifferent side glance and strolls on by. When I make it to the cell I decide to check in on Daryl to make sure that Fat Joey didn't beat him up or anything. I stick the key in to unlock it, but...what the hell? It's already unlocked.

 _No, no, no, please let him be inside still._ Fuck! He's gone. I whip my head side to side in a piss-poor attempt to find him. _Get real, Nan, like he's going to just hang around._ Shit, I've got to find him before someone else does. I'm left to manage on my own and within twenty- five minutes, I've royally fucked myself and this guy over. I, as calmly as possible, trek down the halls looking for Daryl and panic each second I don't see him.

"Hey!" A sharp whisper makes me spin around to see the woman from the infirmary earlier. She waves me over in a frantic motion and so I nervously walk over to her. "Daryl's heading towards the east yard of the factory. I tried to stop him, but he would listen," all the color drains from my face at this news since it'll take me easily ten minutes to get there and by then he could find a way to get out, "you need to go now and try and bring him back before _he_ gets to him." My eyes widen as I look at her, knowing well who _he_ is. I nod my head in understanding and head to the east side of the factory. I resist every fiber in my being that's telling me to break down and cry for my own life if Negan catches Daryl trying to escape. I know, I'm despicable for being more concerned for my own life rather than Daryl's, but to be fair he obviously didn't take my life into consideration when he escaped. Why would he? In his eyes, I'm the enemy.

After ten minutes, I can see the door to the east yard and it is wide open. Shit, shit, shit! I jog over to it and am about to enter the yard when I hear Negan's voice on the outside. I creep over to the door and I see Daryl surrounded by Negan and a group of his men, Fat Joey included. Negan has Lucille in his gloved hand. I cautiously step closer into the light. Negan immediately notices me and his already present grin tips up a little more. He lifts Lucille up and points to Fat Joey to presumably tell him to go get me, but instead he glances back to Daryl. "Who are you?" He asks.

"Negan." Fat Joey replies. Negan swings lazily swings Lucille over his shoulder to the guy behind him. "Who are you?" He asks again with his eyes still on Daryl.

"Negan." The guy retorts. Negan's eyes then look over Daryl and the Saviors that surround him to meet my doe-eyed gaze. His grin widens even more as he puts both arms up and gives an animated shrug. "Who are you?"

"Negan" I mouth silently at him as the rest of the circle claims the same identity. He gives me an amused smirk before redirecting back to Daryl.

"You see that? I am _everywhere_ and this was your shot to prove to me that the fundamental fact was sinkin' in and you failed." Smiling aside, I could tell that Negan was pissed and I, again, felt like those words applied to me as well. "Which sucks because you life was about to get so much cooler," Negan carries on, " am I right?"

"Damn right." Fat Joey answers smugly.

Negan takes Lucille and starts jabbing her on the ground by Daryl's bare feet which he moves to avoid. "Now, Dwight gave you some options. I don't think you get it yet, so I'm gonna break it down for you. You have three options," Negan holds up three fingers, "one, you wind up on the spike and you work for me as dead man. Two, you get out of your cell and work for points, but you're gonna wish you were dead!" At least he's not dishonest about how shitty his point system is. "Or three, you work for me, you get yourself a brand new pair of shoes, and you live like a king!" He quickly shoots me a look before carrying on.

"So it seems pretty obvious and you should know: there is no door number four. This is it. This is the only way!" I can't see Daryl's face, but it makes Negan let out a throated chuckle, before he rapidly swings Lucille at Daryl. My body jolts at his mock swing, thinking he was really going to do it. But he stops last minute, close enough to Daryl who didn't so much as flinch at the movement.

"Whew!" Negan smiles interested. "You don't scare easy! I love that!" He holds Lucille again. "But Lucille she doesn't. She finds it disrespectful." I guess this is truly it for Daryl. Lucille is the law enforcement around here. Negan moves closer to Daryl towering over him by three or four inches. "Lucky for you she's not feeling to thirsty today," Oh, good. "but I am," his face becomes serious and menacing, "so I'm gonna go get me drink!" And just like that he's smiling and laughing again. He turns his attention to me and nods his head for me to follow him as he saunters out of the circle.

I hurry past the circle of men who close in on Daryl. I tuck my face into my left shoulder as they begin throwing punches at their prey. I don't know why I'm so keen on leaving, as I'm positive that I'm following Negan to my punishment.

 **A/N: I'd like to say thank you for all the kind reviews this story have received thus far!**

 **To missBENNETT and rb993: I'm glad you guys think I have good understanding of life at the Sancutary as well as the relationship between the Saviors and the people who work for points! I'm not too familiar with the comics, so I relied on what I saw on the television portrayal.**

 **To A Pride All Our Own, Charlene Clark, Jofrench22 and anonymous guests: I'm so happy your all enjoying my story, especially since this is a Dwight/OC central story (although Nan and Negan will have a thing) and I know a lot of TWD fans are not fans of Dwight lol!**


	6. Hi

Negan breezes through one of the doors that will take us back into the factory, whistling that infamous tune. His long strides make it hard to keep up, so I have to speed up my pace in order to match his. It's harder than it seems since I have to practically scurry and manage to look out for a swinging Lucille. There's a myriad of sensations tearing around inside me like a hornet swarm. I know Negan has to be taking me inside because that's where the platform and biggest audience will be for whatever punishment I'm in store for. I feel as if I could buckle under the weight of all the physical pain that the anxiety and anger have stirred up in me. But I maintain a marble expression as best I can. For as long as I can anyway.

Once we get to the catwalk near the stairs, Saviors and point-earners alike stop what their doing and kneel before the prick. I remain standing behind him, not really sure if I should be kneeling too and because I'm afraid if I do my knees will give out. The last thing I need to do is display how weak and afraid I am.

"As you were!" Negan shouts as he descends onto the factory floor and people pick up again. But not without noticing me with him. I tread lightly down the metal stairs, watching as each foot meets a step until I reach the bottom and see Negan's boots pointing in my direction. I timidly crane my head up enough so that my eyes meet his. Negan has a closed smile drawn across his face and his eyes are chillingly lit. I would wager at the thoughts of my pain and suffering at his hands.

"Well?" Negan raises his eyebrows expectantly. I nervously gulp and try to prepare my raw feeling throat for a pitiful explanation as to how Daryl got out. Although, I really don't know how he escaped. I know I locked that door; I remember hearing the bolt slide into the wall when I turned the key.

"Aren't you gonna take me back to your place?" He said after a few seconds. I furrow my brows in confusion that makes him laugh. He playfully sighs, "I mean I suppose we could go to mine, but I figured since your place is closer and because you let a guy almost escape," he drifts closer to me, "you would be gracious enough to invite me over for a drink."

"A drink?"

"Yes, Nan, a drink. I'm thirsty. That is why we came inside, right?" Is he kidding? I thought we came inside so he could maim me in front of an audience. Negan steps to the side and extends his arm to the left in an 'after you' manner.

I shrug past him and keep my eyes from wandering to any of the people who are watching as the man follows me back to the living quarters. This is utterly mortifying, Negan never goes into the quarters, at least not since I've been here. Even when someone's been caught with contraband, Negan doesn't make an appearance until it's time to publicly dole out the punishment. I can feel the daggers digging in from every person's eyes we pass.

I walk through the curtain, not holding it open for Negan and stand over by my trunk. I hold my hands in front of me and wait for him to duck into my quarter. He looks down at my mattress, "What a lovely home you have, Nan!" He chuckles. "Bit of a rough neighborhood, though, you should consider moving." I stare at him with an arched brow, waiting for him to finish making fun of my quarter.

"Jesus, lighten up, sweetheart. I'm fucking kidding with you," he smirks, "How about that drink?"

I bend down and open my trunk to reveal the jug of water I have. "I don't have any cups." I say embarrassed. Negan cranes his neck over to take a gander at all my worldly possessions. He briefly glances up at my perplexed face and snickers.

"Just making sure you don't have any prohibited items in your treasure chest," He jests. Prohibited items for point-workers include weapons, tools, stolen items, and medicine. Weapons for obvious reasons and tools because they can be used as weapons. Stolen items are things you have but didn't pay or trade for them. Weapons and tools also count as stolen items since you'd have to take steal them in order to have them. People aren't allowed to have medicine in their quarters because Negan doesn't want them stock piling and trading it to other people like a black market. If you need medication, you have to pay for it and if you need medicine frequently, then you have to go to Carson every time you need it. Negan wants people to depend on him and all the goods and services his Saviors provide. The Saviors do "inspections" sporadically where they rarely find contraband, but almost always find items to make their own.

"Yikes, you are not fairing well, are you?" He scoffs. I've about had it with him joking about how I live, since his system is what has me sleeping on a dirty factory floor with nothing of value to my name. "You, sweetheart, need someone who-"

"I'm sorry that Daryl escaped. I don't know how he got out, I know I locked the door." The words burst out like vomit from all the nerves that have been building up through this whole thing.

"Fat Joey unlocked the door." Negan announces. My mouth hangs open a bit at his placid tone. He laughs at my response and licks the corner of his smiling mouth. "Oh, man, D didn't tell you?"

"I don't understand." I nearly whisper.

"Actually, you _do_ understand, Nan. That's why you're here and Daryl is out there," Negan steps closer to me and speaks a little lower, "Because you understand and abide by the rules. All Daryl had to do was stay in the damn cell like a good boy and show that he gets it. But he didn't, so now he's gotta learn. Right?" I submissively nod my head, intimidated by the tone of his voice and how near he is.

"Fan-fucking-tastic!" His voice picks up, causing some people near by to look over at us. My face reddens with embarrassment from all the attention he's attracting.

Negan turns around and lifts the curtain back. _Oh, thank God, he's leaving!_ "Reed!" His deep voice echoes loudly through the area. Negan looks back at me and points to the water jug. "Bring that over here." I hand it to him and he twists off the top and takes a good swig from it. I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back how annoyed I am. Reed walks over to my quarter with his clipboard.

"Reed, what is the point count for this little lady right here?"

"Let's see," Reed flips through his logs, clicking his tongue while do so, "34 currently has a hundred and seventy-five points."

"Ho-ly shit!" Negan laughs. Yeah, I know I'm behind by a lot, but making bread isn't a lucrative position here. "You poor thing, how the fuck have you not starved to death?" He chuckles.

I've managed to keep from starving to death and maintain a healthy-ish body weight because all I eat are those gross protein bars. That doesn't mean I'm a one-woman army, it just means I have a fair amount of calorie intake. Hal is also kind enough to share his powered eggs and oatmeal from time to time. And when he occasionally splurges on vegetables, fruits, or hot meals, he insists that I eat some, the angel. He says it's like having a family meal.

"I manage." I reply coolly. Negan looks me over before smirking.

"Reed, my good man, why don't you double 34's points?" What? That's a lot of points.

"Sure thing." Reed jots down on his log while flashing me a look of warning not to object. Negan puts a hand on Reed's shoulder and nods, giving the okay to return to work. Once Reed's gone, Negan glances over at me with a clearly proud-of-himself smile for having been so kind. It makes me uncomfortable; this is too kind which means there must be catch.

"I figured you earned that for the good behavior Dwight has reported on and because you could stand to gain some weight." Was that supposed to be a compliment? "What do we say, Nan, when we're _graciously_ given something?" Negan speaks in a patronizing tone like I'm a child who forgot my manners.

"Thank you." I force out. Negan leans his head back and chuckles throatily.

"You are _very_ welcome, sweetheart!" He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and lets two ungloved fingers trace my jaw line. His eerie delicacy sends a shiver through me, making him smile so much that I notice dimples appear that I never knew he had before. I left my chin up and turn my head while clearing my throat to indicate discomfort.

"Well, thank you for having me over, but I'm gonna go get something fuckin' stronger, " he hands me back my water jug, "maybe you'd care to join me?" I glance to the side at him, disinterested. "Maybe next time," he lifts up the curtain to leave, "Oh, and Daryl doesn't need to be checked on until D gets back."

That worries me about Daryl's condition. I know the reason that Negan doesn't want me down there is not because he doesn't want me to see how badly Daryl's been beaten, but because he suspects I'll sympathize with him and Negan doesn't want Daryl to be shown kindness until he submits to him. Some clanking sounds remind me that Negan and I weren't alone. I survey the unhappy faces that saw Negan here with me. All the unwanted attention really makes me want to go down to the cells, where I was planning on going before I was told not to by Negan. I leave my quarter anyway to take a walk for a chance to clear my mind.

* * *

I aimlessly wander through the Sanctuary, dismissing all troubling thoughts. Mindless shuffling isn't just for roamers. I inadvertently make it to the cells and I stop at the door to listen. Quiet. Of coarse, why would it ever been anything other than quiet. Daryl never makes a sound. Maybe he's unconscious. What if he has a concussion? He could die. _Crap._ I start to go for the keys that I have tucked in the waistband of my leggings, but I stop myself. _You understand and abide by the rules._ Stepping away from the door, I choose to keep walking. I'm no savior, no real one anyway. Daryl has to learn the rules if he wants to survive. To save himself.

The staircase I'm about to climb is occupied by two shadowed figures leaning against both sides of the walls, smoking. I instantly recognize one of them to be Dwight. Normally, I would turn back, but some wild hair compels me forward up the stairs. The two people look down on me, the other is that wife of Negan's who warned me about Daryl. She seems to be worried like she's not suppose to be here. Dwight, who's leaning on the right side of the wall, shifts his body towards me while putting his cigarette out on the wall. He looks like hell, but I don't care. He opens his mouth to say something, but I don't give him the chance.

 _Smack!_ The woman gasps at the sound of my hand colliding with Dwight's face. "You left and didn't tell me Negan was gonna test Daryl and so I freaked out when he wasn't in the cell and I went looking for him, thinking I had fucked up!" I point an accusing finger at him. I don't know what possessed me to slap Dwight without so much as an ounce of fear or reason, but the moment I saw him here on the stairs, anger overwhelmed me. He should have warned me about that little trust exercise. He just stares at me, scanning my face.

"Hey, look-" The woman begins to speak but I put my still burning hand up at her. I pull the keys from my waistband and fling them at him, but he doesn't attempt to catch them so they clink on the step below him. Whatever. I turn around and descend the stairs, not caring what sort of hot water my words or action will put me in. Right now, I feel so exalted I could laugh although, I think I might throw up.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after I puked in the bathroom on my way to the quarters, Hal comes back from working out in the mechanic's yard. Hal said he was in the British armed forces for a few years and is a pretty skilled sharpshooter. He keeps that secret from the Saviors for obvious reasons; he doesn't want to have to do the horrible things that we all know they do for Negan. According to Hal, he's always been good with his hands, quick to learn, and can jerry-rig anything. So, he's an excellent addition to the mechanic's yard. "Evenin', gorgeous."

I smile feebly and sit on my trunk, facing him. More people are here as well and some look down right pissed at me, while others are standing in close circles, whispering gravely. One woman has a hand over her mouth like she's heard something really upsetting.

"What's going on?" I ask Hal.

"Nothin'."

"Hal, after the day I've had, trust me when I say I handle whatever's being said about me. So, what is it?"

"Well, okay. For starters, no one's really keen on you hangin' around with the Phantom of the Opera and-"

"Hal!"

Hal rolls his eyes. "And helping him tote around that guy they brought back. And to make matters worse, some people said they saw Negan with you in here and that he was rather sweet on you. So, people are a bit bothered with you at the moment."

"It's not like I _want_ to help Dwight or that _asked_ Negan to follow me back here. They know how it is. You do what they tell you to do and you live."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't stop 'em from thinking you are taking up with 'em." That hurt a little. I know Hal doesn't personally think that, hell he told me to listen to them the other night, but his curtness of tone really stung.

"What's she crying for?" I scoff at the woman who's still holding one hand to her mouth and is now wiping tears from her eyes with the other. What the gossip, mere gossip, of me drinking the kool-aid is that hard to handle?

"Gordon ran off today." Hal explains. Gordon is a kind man who works in the coops and the small garden. He must have been the Grab n' Go situation Dwight was handling. Almost all of those situations are resolved by the Saviors bringing the runaway and the stuff they stole back. The punishment for stealing is getting either a finger or, in some cases, a whole hand cut off.

"Where's he at?"

Hal looks up at me solemnly. "He's a deader, on the fence. Bullet hole in his back."

"Oh." I shamefully get quiet. Now, I really don't regret slapping Dwight in the face. I wish I would've hit him harder. "Um, how about I buy us some dinner?" I awkwardly grin, trying to change the subject. Hal snickers at that, shakinghis head.

" _You_ buy us a hot meal? With what, your charming personality?"

"With the points I earned...from working with...Dwight." I suddenly lose my appetite at the thought of Negan doubling my points for aiding Dwight with feeding Daryl dog food. The most points anyone can earn in one day are thirty and that depends on what your job is. Hal earns thirty for doing a more important job. As a baker I made ten. When Negan told Daryl that he'd wish he were dead if he worked for points, he wasn't lying. _That's too many points; there has to be a catch._

" S'alright, love," Hal says after reading my face, "I just bought some ramen packets, so how about I get us some hot water?" I smile at him.

"At least let me buy the hot water."

I make it to the small kitchen that's really more of a small room like the commissary where I could buy the hot water. The people who work there boil the water on camping stoves that sit on those collapsible recreation tables. It's where hot meals are prepared and served, except for bread. I hold the small bowl that Hal gave me to get the water with. This place is always crawling with Saviors coming in and out around this time of day. Normally, I could keep close to the other point-earners, but they all shoot me a look that makes me reconsider. Once I get the hot water, I attempt to get out as quick as possible to get away from the wolf-whistles and heckling.

"Hey, sweetheart!" I cringe at the sound of Davy's voice. He's one of the worst Saviors to inhabit this place. He's hot-tempered and sure as shit scares the hell out of me. Davy always leers at me and any other woman he knows he can easily intimidated.

I pretend like I don't hear him but, as my luck would have it, he approaches me. "How's it going, sweet cheeks?" He puts himself in front of me and grins like a predator. When I don't answer him, he puts his hands under my chin and turns my face towards him. Other Saviors pass by, snickering at his actions.

"Look at those bruises," Davy says with mock concern; "You must really like it rough, huh?" My face blushes with anger and I give him a disgusted look. It only makes him grin bigger and lick his teeth. "Am I right? Are you a kinky girl? 'Cause I can be rough if you maybe wanna go back to my room and..." Out of nowhere he grabs one of my butt cheeks and squeezes it. It startles me forward a bit and I accidentally drop the bowl of hot water that spills all down Davy's mid section, making him yell out in pain.

 _Oh. My. God. What is wrong with you?! You just spilled boiling water on his dick_! I hastily pick up the bowl and hold it in my hands like some poor Joe who's trying to apologize, hat in hand. Before I can say I'm sorry, Davy furiously grabs my arm.

"You stupid fucking whore!" He reaches his hand back and brings it fiercely across my face, bloodying my lip. Davy's about to backhand me again, when someone yanks his hand down and steps between us.

"That's enough!" Dwight yells at Davy.

"Stay out of this, D," Davy growls, "That bitch fucking dumped scalding water on me!"

"It was an accident, man, I saw it!" Dwight lowers his voice a little, but not quiet enough that the other people around us can't hear him. "You made her jump when you grabbed her ass." His tone makes Davy draw back. He sneers at Dwight's implication that he touched me suggestively without my consent, which could get him into trouble with Negan. All the other Saviors got quiet at his words, too.

"What-the fuck-ever." Davy grimaces. He threateningly points a finger at me before huffing off.

Dwight turns around to look at me and all I can do is stare at him with my saucer eyes, mouth agape. Did he just save me? Not help, but save me? Davy is volatile and unpredictable, who knows what he would've done if Dwight hadn't intervened. He sighs through his nose and looks down at the water on the floor. "Clean this up!" Dwight orders me and I get a mop, still stunned. After I've cleaned up the spill, I hastily exit the room. Dwight's waiting outside, probably to make sure I cleaned the mess.

As I move past him, he follows. I look at him concerningly, "What are you doing?"

"Davy's still pissed. You want him catching you alone?

Dwight walks me back my quarter, which doesn't make me anymore popular with everyone else.

"Nan!" Hal jumps up from his bed. I suck in my lip self -consciously and taste the blood. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing, I'm okay." I insist. Hal looks behind me with angry eyes. I turn to see Dwight still standing there.

"Thank you, Dwight." I rasp.

"Yeah." He replies dryly, walking off.

"Hey, wait a sec!" I call softly. He turns a little, the scarred half of his face illuminated by the lamplights of the factory. "I'm sorry for earlier."

Dwight scoffs and then continues to go. It's then I realize he's sort of limping.

* * *

That night I didn't sleep well. I kept replaying the day over in my head, especially the last few hours. Daryl escaping and being beaten up in the east yard, Negan standing here in my quarter, having Reed double my points, me slapping Dwight in the stairwell, and then him saving me from Davy's assault. I strike him and he saves me. Why would help me after that? He didn't step in the other day when those three guys stomped Russell to death.

The next morning is Thursday, so I get up and gather my dirty clothing to take it to the laundry room, which is just a room down near the cells where you can use points to get a bucket of lukewarm water that, like the water in the "kitchen" is warmed on a camping stove, and a little detergent to hand wash your clothes. If you have enough points, you can have someone wash your clothes for you, but the people who work there are always so swamped with washing the Savior's clothes that no one really ever does because the laundry workers won't have the time and then it'll be points wasted. I sit on a stool and scrub the fabric of my clothes together to work out the dirt and flour. After about thirty minutes or so, I leave to go hang my damp, rung out clothes on the line that runs along the quarters for drying clothes. People are even more pissed at me then before. I guess having both Negan and Dwight here yesterday was not a good thing, although I didn't choose for either any of this.

* * *

As I get closer to the cells, I can hear a Roy Orbison song serenading the halls.

 _'I was all right for a while, I could smile for a while_

 _But I saw you last night; you held my hand so tight_

 _As you stopped to say "Hello"_

 _Aw you wished me well, you couldn't tell_

 _That I'd been crying over you, crying over you_

 _Then you said "so long", left me standing alone_

 _Alone and crying, crying, crying, crying'_

I round the corner to find Dwight leaning by Daryl's door with his crossed arms resting on the wall. It looks like he's listening for something. _Oh, no._ Did Daryl die? Is he listening for the snarling that that kind produces? A wash of guilt nauseates my stomach. I should have looked in on him yesterday, Negan be damned.

"Is everything okay?" I nervously ask, making Dwight turn his head that's resting on his arms. I dart my eyes to the door to relay my concern.

"He's fine." Dwight answers quietly but bitterly as he faces back the other way. I lightly walk closer to the door and listen intently. Underneath the sorrowful music, I begin to make out the sound of...crying? Daryl's crying? I turn my head slightly so that my left ear faces the door, hoping to get a clearer understanding of what I'm hearing. Yes, he's definitely crying. Which means he's still alive. I feel Dwight's eyes on me, which makes me want to look back. His eyes are inquisitive, wondering why I haven't burst into tears at the sound of Daryl's choked out sobs. It's a heartbreaking sound to hear, but I remain reserve as I look at Dwight. _Heartless bitch._

A few seconds pass between Dwight and I, before he sits up and turns his back on me to leave. _Don't go._ What? I shake the feeling of disappointment. Get it together, Nan. It's just the music.

 _'Yes, now you're gone and from this moment on_

 _I'll be crying, crying, crying, crying_

 _Yeah, crying, crying, over you.'_

When the music stops, I can hear Daryl attempt to calm himself down and stifle his crying.

* * *

Later on in the day, Dwight fetches me from my quarter so we can take Daryl to Negan. When Dwight opens the door to the cell, the faint smell of vomit hits my nose. He's lying on his stomach asleep near a puddle of sick, a ruined sandwich, and an overturned Polaroid picture. Where'd he get that? Dwight tells him to get up and he stirs to his feet. His jaw looks to be a little swollen from the beating he took yesterday. Daryl doesn't look at either of us as Dwight pulls him out of the cell. I look back down at the Polaroid and wonder what its a picture of. I crouch down and flip over the picture. _What the-_

"Leave it," Dwight startles me, "He can keep it."

The three us step inside that room Daryl and I were placed in front of the day before. Negan's already there, sitting in the leather chair with his leg resting on his knee. I 'm hoping I'll be told to just wait out in the hallway, but Dwight closes the door behind us and sets his cross bow down to the side.

"Well, look at you," Negan addresses Daryl as he gets up from the chair with a glass of water in hand, "you look awesome, thirsty?" Daryl takes the glass from Negan but doesn't drink from it. "Hell, I forgot. Your mouth is all puffed up like a baboon's ass. Need a straw? D, get him a straw, what's wrong with you?"

Dwight walks over to the counter behind Negan. "Don't worry, Carson will fix you up." Negan glances over and winks at me with a smile. I meekly avert my gaze. "And look at _you_!" I suck in my lip that's a little busted from where Davy smacked me last night.

"Let me guess, I should see the other guy, right? Am I down another prick?" I lightly shake my head and Negan scoffs amusedly with his tongue in his cheek. I can feel Daryl's eyes looking at me.

Dwight sticks a straw in the glass Daryl's holding.

"See that guy?" Negan gestures to Dwight. He takes the glass from Daryl since he hasn't drunk from it. "He hustles. I like hustle. But believe it or not, things weren't always cool between us. See, D here, He worked for points. Him and his _super hot_ wife and her _super hot_ sister." Dwight had a wife and sister-in-law? "But see, sis. She needed meds and that shit is hard to scavenge, so it cost more. Sis fell behind on points, so I asked her to marry me. Told her I would take care of her in sickness and in health, blah blah blah, because I am a _stand-up guy_!" His eyes flicker over to me and his smile spreads. I turn my head away and focus on the glass in Dwight's hand.

"She tells me she's gonna think about it. Next thing you know, I'm dealing with an orange situation! Dwighty boy here stole all the medication and took off with his super hot wife and my super hot maybe soon-to-be fiancée!" My head drifts upward to view Dwight's blank face. Negan continues with a little more seriousness to his zeal.

"So I had to send my guys after him, because I can't let something like that stand," Negan lightly bangs Lucille on the floor and gives Dwight an affronted glare which makes Dwight hang his head a little, "There are rules. Cost me an arm and a leg going after him and you know what? Dwighty boy? He still got away!" _What?_

"But here's the thing. D, he saw the light. He manned up. He came back. He asked for my forgiveness! I like that. Made me take notice. But Lucille, " Negan waves her in Daryl's face, "Well, you know how she is. A real stickler for the rules. So, Dwight, he begged me not kill Sherry, which I thought was kind of cute, so I was just gonna kill him. But then Sherry says that she will marry me if I let Dwight live, which, if you think about it that's a pretty screwed up deal, 'cause I was gonna marry her sister until she wound up dead, but Sherry is _super hot_!" Every time he says 'super hot' I cringe. Does this guy own everything except a thesaurus?

"Anyways, it was a start, but it wasn't enough. So Dwight, he got the iron. And then I married his super hot wife. Ex-wife," He gloats in Dwight's direction. Dwight's face remains unphased. "And after all that, he still got on board. And now look at him. _Pow!_ One of my top guys. And we are totally cool! The point being, I think you can be that guy. I think you are ready to be that guy." He spreads out his arms, wanting Daryl to take in the room. "All this could be yours! All you have to do is answer one question for me: who are you?"

Daryl watches Negan silently. After a few moments of Daryl remaining quiet, Negan speaks playfully but agitated. "What's a matter cat got your tongue? I know, you're just overwhelmed by the awesomeness of this," He takes a big step towards Daryl, "I'm gonna ask you one more time." Now he's dangerously close to Daryl, trying to intimidate him." Who _are_ you?"

The next few second are long and excruciating. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. Even with his terrifying, unwavering stare, Negan seems to be holding his breath in waiting for Daryl to speak. After what feels like an eternity, Daryl finally breaks the silence.

"Daryl."

Dwight turns to him, "This is the only wa-" Negan clears his throat irritably which silences Dwight.

"It's cool, D. He made his choice," Negan drawls displeased, "Ain't my problem if he made a dumbass choice."

* * *

The walk back to the cells is all a blur to me. My head is pounding with the all the information that Negan dropped on the table. Dwight escaped? Like actually ran from this place and got away? And then he just came back and... I glance up at his scars. _Dwight, he got the iron._ I never knew until now how Dwight got his scars. I've had to witness a lot of punishments, but I've never seen someone get the iron, so I didn't even know it was a thing. I always figured Dwight's scarred face was just another hazard to living in this world like losing an arm that was bitten. Or dying. How come no one told me all of this before? I mean, Hal and the others would know what happened, right?

"You're gonna wind up in that room, or hanging on the fence!" Dwight's angry shout calls me back to reality and I realize he's thrown Daryl in the cell. Exasperated, he steps back to shut the door.

"I get why ya did it," Daryl's gruff voice stops him, "Why you took it. You were thinking about someone else. That's why I can't." Dwight stares into the cell for a minute then shuts the door with a frustrated sigh.

Our eyes meet again and I feel the impulse to speak to him. To say something that wouldn't seem like I was just being nice or pitying to him because of what I just heard. Something like a normal would person would think to say. Instead I say nothing, like the weak, pathetic person that I am. He looks me over and brushes pass me. I trail behind him, not to follow, just because it's also on the way back to the floor level. He stops at a random door, opens it, goes inside, and shut it loudly. I thought the room we were just in with Negan was Dwight's room? Guess not. I awkwardly linger in the hall for few seconds. I'm not sure why.

* * *

I sit criss-crossed on my mattress with my elbows resting on my knees and my head in my hands. The wriggle my nose in frustration and because the damn factory air dries out my nose which bothers me nose ring. Every time someone looks my way, I raise an expectant brow that makes them timidly turns their heads. Hal comes back to the quarters with a damp load of laundry.

"Here's your shirt back." I toss him his folded shirt he lent me.

"Thanks. Everything alright?"

"How come you didn't tell me about Dwight escaping?" I ask tersely. Hal 's brows knit together.

"What?"

"Dwight, he escaped the Sanctuary and go the iron when he returned," I look directly at Hal, "why didn't you tell me that?"

"I don't know. I didn't think it was relevant."

"You didn't think it was relevant?" I laugh sardonically. "You and the other people who told me about Dwight, skipped over the part where he fled this fucking place with his wife and her sister and then came back because none of you thought it was relevant? The part where he begged for his wife's life and how she married Negan to keep him alive wasn't relevant? Him getting the iron, whatever the fuck that means, wasn't relevant?"

People begin to stare at me since each new sentence gets louder. "What?!" I snap at the crowd. They all look away.

"Hey, cool it, Nan!" Hal steps forward, touching my shoulder.

"Why Hal? Why did everyone omit a huge chunk of the story?" I demand.

"I don't know!" Hal sighs and looks down. "Dwight was alright when he was one of us. But then he changed and I guess everyone can't really sympathize with a man who went from never having killed someone before to killing anyone without question."

"That's not fair! He kind of doesn't have a choice." I recoil at my own words. Sticking up for Dwight?

"Not fair? Ask Gordon what's fair, he's right outside!" Hal puts his hand up towards the front door, "Gordon was kind to Dwight and look how much it mattered to him. Dwight chose to work for Negan; he wasn't forced to become a Savior. And even if that was part of the condition of him getting to live, it didn't mean he had to become an arsehole like the rest of them and kill a man who he didn't have to kill! "

I know Hal has me there. Dwight didn't have to kill Gordon; he could have just brought him back. "Whatever." I mutter defeated. I walk over to my trunk; snatch two protein bars from it, and storm out of the quarters. I'm flustered and confounded at my sudden defense of a man whom I have always disliked. A man whom just yesterday I slapped across the face.

* * *

When the coast is clear, I get down on both knees and unwrap the peanut butter protein bar. "Daryl?" I call softly. He's not going to talk to you. I slide the bar underneath the door. "You have to eat it before tomorrow." I listen for movement but there is none. "Please eat it. Negan will know I gave it to you." As I leave, I still hear nothing, so I just have to hope that he'll eat it and not spitefully leave it there. Why would he care if I got in trouble? If I were in his position, that's what I'd probably do.

I eat my "coconut cream pie" flavored bar as I make my way to the entrance. _Don't do this, Nan._ I have to. The factory entrance's big metal doors are wide open and I see a familiar silhouette outside. Dwight has a beer bottle in his one hand, looking out at the fence. The fence workers have an old water cooler jug with the top cut off over the biter's head as they add him to the fence. They seem to be fastening him tightly to the chain-link. After he's secure, one of the workers swiftly removes the jug off Gordon's head while the other worker uses a pole to push him back as they dart away from him. He writhes on the short leash they have him on and he quickly snaps around to face our direction. Gordon's fingers clutch onto the fence as he stares at Dwight who's more easily in view. Dwight stares back for a while before taking a swig from the bottle in his hand and then angrily throwing it over the railing.

This action makes him catch sight of me, which makes me want to sheepishly turn away. But I don't. I let my eyes meet his, more humanely than I usually do. "Hi."

"Hey," He barely says before shuffling back into Sanctuary. _Wait. Come back._ No, it's okay that he left. I didn't come out here to see or talk to Dwight.

I look out at Gordon who's managed to turn himself back to his original direction. There's a bullet hole in his back.

* * *

 **Once again, thank you for the kind reviews and for following/favorite-ing! I'm glad Nan is getting such a warm reception, too! Well, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to review!**


	7. Target Practice

_The steam from the shower keeps the bathroom nice and warm when I get out with a towel wrapped around me. I wipe the condensation from the mirror so I can comb my copper brown hair and brush my teeth. After a few minutes, I hear the door open and close and within seconds, the sound of his footsteps enters the bedroom. I open the bathroom door and am brushed instantly with chilly winter air that's blown in from the open window._

 _"Woo! Close the window!" I shiver while holding my towel closely to me. He spies me in the door frame and smiles before walking over to the window to close it. When the window is shut, he turns around and takes in my trembling body. "What?" I sweetly ask._

 _"You're shaking like damn leaf." He snickers while making his way to me. I clutch my towel with happy anxiety as he draws closer. The smell of cigarette smoke hits my nose and confirms my suspicsion that he had just come in from smoking. When he reaches me, he places a hand gently on the small of my back and without a moment's notice, he snatches the towel off and pulls me into him._

 _"Hey!" I giddily shriek which makes him laugh. "Give me back my towel, it's cold!" I try to snatch the towel from his left hand but he quickly tosses it to the side. Once the towel is disgarded, he wraps his other hand under my arm and on my shoulder blade._

 _"I can keep you warm." He leans down to kiss my lips. I feel his fingers caress the goose bumps that have risen on my skin from standing naked in the cold room. I pull out of the kiss._

 _"At least take me to the bed where there's blankets."_

 _"Go ahead, I'll meet you there." He smirks. I roll my eyes with a smile and coyly saunter past him. A familiar whistle enters the air and I sharply whip around on my heel._

 _It was just him. "Just admiring the view."_

 _I shake my head. "Come hither." I jokingly beckon him._

 _He shrugs off his coat and shirt as he strides over to me. "Your wish is my command." He jests back. I push myself backwards onto the bed and cross my left leg over my right thigh._

 _"What happened to your leg?" He stops half way from kicking off his boots. I glance over to inspect my right thigh and notice a massive bruise on the side. I immediately realize where I got it._

 _"Oh, I slipped on the ice on the sidewalk outside of Martinelli's."_

 _"Shit," he chuckles, "Lunch runs can be dangerous, huh?"_

 _"It's not for the faint of heart," I giggle, "Sylvie practically died from laughing at me."_

 _"Yeah?" I notice his smile falter a bit. "She went with you?" He asks blankly while undoing his belt. Why did I mention her?_

 _"Uh, yeah. My grandpa told her to go with me since it was a little slow in the bakery."_

 _He nods as he walks over to me. I uncross my legs and open them enough for him to stand in between them. I look at his face and demurely smile, placing my hands on his waist and slide my fingers upward. He glances down and feigns an alright expression, but I know he's a little upset. I trail my fingers down until I get to his penis. I lightly wrap my hand around and softly stroke it. He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. When he gets hard enough, he softly pushes me onto the bed and I bring my legs up. He climbs on top of me and begins to pepper my knees, thighs, and stomach with tender kisses before working his way up to my breast and neck. Finally, our lips meet and one semi-calloused hand holds my face as the other reaches down between us. Once he's positioned himself at my entrance, he eases into me. I let out a breathy mewl._

 _We make love in near silence, kisses and moaning being the only sounds in the room. As we both come to a climax, he breathlessly groans out "I love you."_

 _I run a hand through his scruffy hair. "I love you, too." He kisses me one last time before rolling onto his back. I slide over to him and lay my head on his chest. He drapes his arm over me. "Nan?"_

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"Never mind." He says after a few seconds. Why did I mention her?_

 _"My grandma thinks you and I would have cuter kids than Joy and Michael." I randomly say to diffuse the awkwardness. He laughs and wraps his other arm around me. My grandma adores him and always says how happy I'd be if I married him and had babies._

 _"I bet she does," he smartly replies,"She's always telling me how handsome I am and how lucky you are to have me."_

 _I snicker. "Yeah, how fortunate for a gorgon like me to snag such a looker."_

 _"You're alright looking," he teases," besides, you as long as I don't look directly into your eyes, I should be fine." We both share a laugh. "You're beautiful, Medusa."_

 _We lazily talk for half an hour as we drift off to sleep. As I feel myself get closer to falling asleep, he begins to cough and splutter like he's choking._

 _"Are you okay?" I ask half-asleep. I hear a breathy growl and wet gagging. I put my hand on his chest and push myself up to look at him. My eyes widen at the sight of him decayed and writhing._

 _"Nan." He chokes out as he extends a deteriorating hand and grabs my shoulder._

* * *

I let out a small gasp as I startle awake at the feeling of someone touching my shoulder. It's Hal.

"Nan, wake up."

I blink a few times, taking him in sitting on his mattress fully dressed. "What is it?"

Without verbally answering, Hal glances up and points to something behind me, motioning for me to turn around. I lay on my back to see what it is and that's when I see Dwight standing near my mattress, staring down at me.

"Get up." He says.

I dutifully pick myself up from my mattress and walk over to my trunk. Flipping it open, I pull out my clean, dark gray shirt. I slip off the one I'm wearing and change into the gray one. My shoes are over by the curtain where Dwight stands. As I shuffle over to get them, I causally glance towards Dwight whose head is lowered and turned away from the quarters. Probably doesn't want to make eye contact with anyone who he use to know back when he was a point-earner, after what he did to Gordon. Although, why would he care what they think of him? He's above them now.

"See ya later, gorgeous." Hal calls behind me.

Dwight looks over at Hal before I move past him out of the quarters. Once I'm out of the quarters, I turn back at Dwight and wait for him to stalk past me to lead the way to the cells. His eyes make their way up to mine and when they meet, Dwight bashfully clears his throat before bumping into me to get ahead. What was that for? That's when it hit me that I changed my shirt in front of Dwight. Is that why he was awkwardly looking away? We don't have a whole lot of privacy in the quarters, so I've just gotten use to changing in front of other people. I can put my bra on under my shirt and I just change my underwear in the bathrooms, but other than that I dress and undress in front of people all the time.

"So, what's the plan today?" I wince at my odd attempt to make small talk. _We're going to continue treating Daryl like an stray dog until he flips for Negan._

"Daryl's gonna go work outside for few hours. Tend to the fences." He answers. I look over at him as we walk. His response isn't rude like I expected it to be.

I should probably be more worried for Daryl since he's going to be doing a dangerous job, but the others who do it on a regular basis do just fine without too many accidents. Besides, Daryl didn't cower down to Negan yesterday, which makes me, maybe foolishly, believe that he's made of tougher stuff.

"What are we gonna do while he's out there?"

"Target practice."

"What?"

Dwight looks at me as he unlocks the cell door. "Ever used a gun before?"

"Uh, yes." I reply not too confidently.

"How well can you shoot?"

"Not very well."

"Well, then you need to practice, don't you?"

Practice for what? I'm not a Savior. I'm just a baker who is unlucky enough to catch Negan's unwanted attention. "Oh...yeah." I start to pick at the skin around my thumb.

Daryl is teamed up with two other workers in to manage the fence. It's pretty warm this morning and it will likely get hot by noon. I don't envy the shoeless Daryl or the other men who are all wearing those disgusting sweat suits. Daryl isn't introduced to his co-workers; Dwight just hands him over to the Saviors that stand watch by the main entrance and they shove Daryl in with the rotters and the one of the fence workers runs over with a metal pole to keep the dead from grabbing him while he gets to this feet. I suddenly feel anxious for Daryl now that I actually see him around all those clawing corpses. _He'll be fine._

"Hey!" Dwight out a hand around my forearm, as if to pull me away from the fence where I thoughtlessly walked to while Dwight was talking with the woman guard with cornrows. I release my fingers from the chain link and step back. "Let's go."

Of all the things I've had to do thus far, "target practice" puts the biggest pit in my stomach. I know what it means for me and my future here. Dwight training me on how to use a gun can only mean that I haven't screwed up in Negan's eyes, which would mean that I'm making progress. _Fuck!_

* * *

Target practice is sort of what I expected it to be. Dwight sets up bottles and cans on the top of a broken bookcase that's been dragged out here. He takes the 9 mm out of his holster and starts explaining the parts of the gun. "And this is the-"

"Trigger." I interrupt. Did he honestly think I wouldn't know that?

"Yeah...good." He seems to realize how stupid it was to point out the obvious.

"I know how to use a gun," I clarify, "My...uh, someone...taught me." _Don't talk about him._ Dwight blankly scans my face. "I'm just a bad shot."

"Alright, well, I guess that makes things a lot easier." He sighs. I'm going to make him regret those words.

He has me stand a good distance away from the set up and attempt to shoot as many of the bottles and cans off as I can. To no surprise, I hit nothing, except the bookcase twice. Dwight places a hand on the back of his neck and squints in the direction of the targets. He holds his hand out and I give him back the gun. He reloads the gun and cocks it before handing back to me. "Try again."

I fire the gun several times towards the targets all lined up in a row, but I miss every time. I suppose another person would be embarrassed and frustrated for not being able to hit at least one of the bottles or cans, but I'm actually glad. Maybe Dwight will lose patience and tell Negan I'm a lost cause and then I can go back to baking bread that I can't afford. And maybe people will stop treating me like I have cooties. Dwight puts his hand out and reloads. "Try again." Damn it.

The whole morning is spent by me failing to hit anything and Dwight reloading the gun so I can fail some more. I can tell Dwight's starting to get irritated. The sad thing is is that I'm actually trying to hit the something. We have to be almost done, I mean, me firing bullet after bullet has to be a waste of resources. Dwight reloads the gun and places it back in my hand, but this time he steps behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders to adjust my position. He also angles my arms differently. I feel my cheeks flush.

"Alright, now keep your body just like this and keep an eye on the target and then pull the trigger." I focus on a green bottle in the middle and squeeze the trigger. Missed. Dwight sighs deeply through his nose. "It's fine. Try again." Bang. Missed. "Try again." Missed. "Again." Missed. "Again." The already breaking bookcase collapses after taking the next bullet. "Shit!'

I offer him the gun back that he snatches and holsters. Dwight walks over to the mess and moves the broken glass around with his foot. With his hands on his hips he looks down at the wreck and appears to be thinking. A few seconds of him standing by the broken bookcase go by when he suddenly glances at his wristwatch and then back at me.

"Let's go see how the asshole's doing at the fences." He finally says.

Our check on Daryl is very brief. Dwight and I just pass the fences as we continue to the entrance. We're also inside for a short amount of time just to get more empty bottles and a few wooden crates that we're going to stack up and use for a stand. Noon drags on and I haven't gotten any better. I made a can wobble the on top crate, but that was only because the bullet whizzed past and grazed it. Dwight said that doesn't count. By the one- thirty, Dwight tells me to meet him back here in half an hour.

* * *

I go back to my quarter and open my trunk for some food. My stomach growls at the four proteins bars that inhabit the trunk. My lip curls at the lack of good flavors to choose from. Did the guy who made the brownie bar ever actually have a brownie before?

"Hi, Nan." I turn my head to the left.

"Oh, hi, Sharon." Her eyes have huge dark circles under them and she's paler than usual.

"How've you been?" She smiles sweetly.

"Okay. You?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Thank you." Her voice seems a little shaky.

I nod my head and my eyes are diverted to some other people who looking our way disapprovingly.

"How are the chickens?" I oddly ask, unsure of what to else to say.

"Good. Some chicks just hatched so, we'll have six new egg layers."

"How come you're not out there?"

"I've been a little sick all morning. I threw up a bit, so I got permission to get some antacid tablets from my quarter," She sounds unwell, "I kept making Bryan gag, every time I would start to heave." She adds. Bryan's one of the Saviors who looks over the people who work in the coops and garden.

"Oh, well I hope you feel better," I look at the protein bar in my hand, "I have to go, Sharon, I'll see you later."

She politely waves at me with a genuine smile. It's nice to know that Hal's not the only person who rationally understands my predicament.

The heat has picked up when I walk back out to the front of the factory. Daryl's still out there dodging the dead. I watch him work as I pass by. He's doing pretty well, I guess. Him and another guy are working together to guide a biter over to some rebar. My gaze is jolted away from Daryl when Gordon's corpse rattles the fence when he sees me, his face pressing into it. I turn my head and start walking faster. My thoughts combatively think of what reason Dwight had for killing Gordon instead of just bringing him back alive. But no rational explanation comes up and I feel angry with myself for trying to find one.

* * *

When I finally get back to the yard, I see that Dwight isn't alone. That woman who gave me back my shower stuff the other day is sitting on a crate with beer in her hand, as Dwight stacks some more crates on top of each other.

"She can't that be that bad." She laughs.

"Trust me, she is." Dwight snickers back.

The woman catches sight of me and put her tongue in her cheek and nods in my direction. Dwight looks over his shoulder and then at his watch.

"You still have fifteen minutes." He tells me, not at all ashamed for being caught laughing at me.

"I don't have a watch," I brazenly retort, " I came back early so I would be on time." I put my protein bar in the back pocket of my pants.

"Alright," Dwight aligns some new bottles and cans on the top crate and then hands me his gun, "Knock 'em down." He says in a half-biting tone. The woman annoyingly seems like she's going to stick around.

I stand in the same position Dwight had me standing in before. I empty the gun and give it to Dwight to reload; it feels double embarrassing since I have a spectator. It reminds me of how bad I was when _he_ was teaching me and how I couldn't get the hang of it. _It was your fault_. I know. I go to fire again, but the woman Savior approaches me.

"Stop, stop. Hold on a second, hon."

I glance over at her and then at Dwight who's got half a sandwich in his hand.

"Are you left handed?" She asks while putting her hair up in a bun. She's got a tattoo on the side of her neck that's partially covered by the collar of her jacket.

"No," I think about what she's asked and then it dawns on me, "I am ambidextrous, though." I'm right hand dominant, but there are a few, random things I do with my left. I guess I never though about it.

Without warning, she places her hands on my hips and pivots me a tiny bit which makes me blush. She has me switch hands and then positions my arms.

"Now, fix your eye on that bottle there," she points to a brown bottle that's on the far left, "and then when you're ready; pull the trigger."

I focus on the brown bottle like she told me to and exhale before pulling the trigger. Holy -

"Shit!" The woman exclaims. The corners of my mouth faintly tip up at the absence of the bottle I had my sights on. Only a few shards of glass remain on the crate where the bottle stood.

"Alright, now go down the row." She orders. I aim and fire at the rest of the bottles and cans and, to my astonishment, I knock them all down. "Atta girl!" The woman raises her hand up. I hesitate for a second before moving closer to her and giving her a weak high-five. It's feels uncomfortable to celebrate with her, even though she's being uncommonly friendly. She's still a Savior.

"See that, D? She just needed better instruction." She winks at me. To an even bigger surprise, Dwight claps cooly at both of us. This makes my breath gather in my chest like steam.

"I guess so." He grinned. Just then, both Dwight's and the other Savior's radios crackle and the woman grabs hers from her belt.

"This is Laura, I'll be right there," She looks between Dwight and I, "Just showin' Dwight how to handle a girl who can use both hands." She teases. I shift my body uncomfortably.

"Catch ya later, D, " She laughs, "Nice job, sweetheart." Laura winks at me again before heading off.

My stomach rumbles again and I recall the bar in my pocket. I don't ask permission to open it and eat since Dwight has a sandwich on a plate that's resting on a crate with a half empty beer bottle next to him. The bite I took tastes tart in a really bizarre way and like a child I promptly spit the piece into my hand and chuck it. I notice Dwight staring at me with furrowed brows. I suppose that wasn't the most charming thing to have done, but that was too awful to just force down. I turn the package over and read the label. Chocolate Brownie? I don't think so, that tasted worse than the last time I had this flavor. My mouth twists to the side, displeased, as I fold the wrapper over the remaining bar and put it back in my pocket.

"Can I see that?" Dwight suddenly asks. I pull the bar back out and walk it over to him. He unfolds the wrapper and turns it over. "This is expired," He says, handing it back to me, "I wouldn't bother saving it."

"I didn't think they went bad." I quietly admit. My stomach feels hollow and I can't help but to glance over at the other half of Dwight's sandwich, which Dwight notices.

"Here, take it." Dwight holds up the plate to me.

I cautiously take the sandwich and sit down on a crate that's a few feet away from Dwight's. I inspect at the contents curiously; the sandwich seems to have mustard, lettuce, tomatoes, and sliced boiled egg. By the smell and feel of the bread, I can tell it's fresh. Part of me feels guilty holding such a fine assembly of food, since a lot of us in the quarters can't even dream of having a sandwich of this caliber. I can sense Dwight glimpsing over at me, so I resolve to take a bite. _Son of a bitch._ The taste nearly makes my eyes roll in the back of my head and I stifle a moan. It's a simple sandwich, but it's the best thing I've had in a really long time.

"This is good." I compliment while chewing. Dwight looks at me disconcertingly. We're silent for a few moments which doesn't feel as tense as it usually does. Maybe I'm just too into the sandwich that Dwight was, dare I say, kind enough to give to me. My thoughts suddenly think of the sandwiches we feed Daryl.

"What did Daryl do?" I ask as I lick some mustard from the side of my mouth.

"What?"

"You told me not to feel sorry for him. That he did it to himself. What did he do?"

Dwight's eyes scan my face before he looks down at the sandwich in his hand. "Him and his group killed an entire outpost a couple months ago. While they were sleeping. And some more here and there," Dwight said without any emotion in his voice, "They also stole a bunch of guns."

I weight Dwight's words in my mind. Daryl is a killer like the Saviors. It doesn't really shock me, given the world we live in. The Saviors do horrible things, most things, I haven't even had to fathom because I live cloistered in the Sanctuary. I don't know Daryl well enough to judge that he isn't as bad as Negan or Dwight. Although, he did eat the protein bar I slipped him which might have just been from sheer hunger, but he had an opportunity to get me in trouble and he didn't.

"Where are the other people?"

Dwight lifts his beer bottle to his lips and causally tips it. "Back at their community."

"Oh," I nod, remembering Negan saying that he had to teach some people 'how shit works' the other day. Daryl and his group were those people. "How come Daryl was brought back?"

Dwight scoffs at my next question. "Because Negan saw potential in him." Potential. Is that what he sees in me too? "Speaking of, we better go get him." Dwight stands up and I follow, still eating the sandwich half.

While we're walking Dwight reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves a half empty pack of cigarettes with a lighter. He puts the pack up to mouth and takes a cigarette, then extends the pack to me. I shake my head and he puts it back in his pocket. I'm a little perplexed with Dwight's civility. Sure, he hasn't been as despicable with me as he has Daryl and he did help me with Davy the other night, but sharing his sandwich and now offering me a cigarette? Not to mention the patience he displayed with me when I couldn't hit a single can this morning.

My mind drifts to the events Negan described yesterday in that room. Dwight was one of us, like really one of us. He hated it here, enough to escape. Circumstance brought him and his wife back to this place and back to Negan. Then, both of them begged for the other's life to be spared. Now, Dwight is physically marred and this Sherry woman is sleeping with the man who almost bashed her husband's skull in with his creepy bat. Who wouldn't come out of that changed for the worse. The smell of the cigarette smoke makes me feel sentimental. I would have done the same thing for... _him_. _No, you wouldn't. All you ever did was hurt him._ I shrug my shoulders to shut down the bad thoughts that I know are true.

When we get to the fences, Negan is there; talking to a guy that's leg is perched on the back tire of a loading truck. Looks like he and a few others came back from a pick up. I stop a few feet away from the gate, where Dwight continues to walk towards to fetch Daryl. Negan laughs at something the guy said before easefully turning on his heel.

"Nan!" He rings out. I bite the inside of my cheek and glance over at him. He's stalking towards me. Fuck! "How are you this fine afternoon?" He croons.

"Fine." I say, unable to see Dwight over his shoulder.

"I take it things are going smoothly for you?"

I sheepishly nod at him.

"Not much of conversationalist, are you?" He chuckles.

I bite my cheek again to hold back a scoff. A wave of relief softens my eyes when I finally see Dwight approaching with Daryl. Negan squints at me before turning to the side.

"Jesus, you smell like fucking week old onions and vomit!" Negan hoots at Daryl who's sweating bullets. Negan covers his nose with the back of his hand. The stench is quite overbearing, but Daryl can't really help that. "Dwight, how's our girl doing?" Our girl? My eyes flicker to Dwight, unimpressed.

"She's got a good enough grasp on the basics. Stand still targets."

"That is so _awesome_ to hear," Negan smiles pompously at me.

"You want me to take her out to practice on moving targets?" Dwight asked. My heart leaps at that remark. Outside? I haven't left the confines of the Sanctuary since Simon brought me here nine months ago. Point-earners aren't allowed to. The Saviors don't really ever leave either, unless they're sent out, but at least they can.

"Nah, she can learn on the job. That's the best kind of experience, right?" Negan's face is settles into a cool half-smile. He seems a little agitated by something. "Holy fucking hell!" He leans away from Daryl. "My goddamn eyes are startin' to fuckin' water!' He gives a throated laugh while wiping a finger under his eye for show.

We start to head inside when Negan catches my arm. I look at his hand around my elbow and then at him. "Hang back a minute, sweetheart. I wanna talk to you." He releases me and smirks over at Dwight, who stopped himself and Daryl when Negan grabbed me. "Go put Daryl away for the rest of the day, Nan will catch up." Dwight looks briefly to me before turning around.

Negan shifts his body back towards me and grins when he sees my face contorted with confusion and unease. "So," he pauses for anticipation, "I've inquired about you from Dwight everyday you've been helping him whip Daryl into shape and I have yet to be disappointed."

Why is he telling me this? He already 'rewarded' me two days ago by doubling my points for the good reports. "Tomorrow, we are going on a little excursion for a pick up and I think you," He draws close to me, " might be ready to venture out. Consider it a test, if you will. See how well you can play outside." Call me pathetic, but my chest hauls at the mention of going outside the factory walls, again. I look up at Negan like he offered to take me to ice cream after I won an ice hockey game. His grin spreads. "You think you'd be up for a field trip?"

"Yes." I try to maintain a calm countenance, but I'm afraid my answer wasn't entirely devoid of a little desperate eagerness, because Negan's grin opens into a teeth-bearing smile.

"Can I trust you to go outside, Nan?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." He lightly touches the side of my face.

* * *

I head to the cells once I get back inside to find Dwight. Once I turn the corner, I spot him, locking the door.

"Hi." I say to him mildly.

"Hey." His head turns towards me. "Ready to go back out?" I nod my head yes.

For the rest of the day, I keep on shooting the bottles and can off the crates. Dwight even has me walk around the crates to see if I can hit a target while moving. I'm not that good, but not that bad either. By five-thirty, Dwight tells me we can call it day. When we get to the entrance, he pulls out another cigarette and sits on the steps to smoke. I could go inside, but I lean on the railing and look out at the fences. Or rather, I'm trying to look past the fences, to what lies on the other side.

"Do you go out a lot?"

Dwight looks up at me over his shoulder. "What?"

"Outside of the Sanctuary. Do you?" I glance at him. Our eyes hold each other's gaze. I, waiting for Dwight's answer. Dwight, I assume, thinking about my question.

"Yeah, sometimes," Dwight takes a drag from his cigarette, "Usually when there's a Grab n' Go."

"He sends you all the time?"

"No, I volunteer."

"Home come?'

"Because, I like to go." He responds rigidly. His answer should make me despise him, but it doesn't. Instead, I sigh with understanding through my nose. Anything to leave this place, even for a brief period of time, must be a hell of a respite from all that being here entails. "Why?"

"Negan said we're going somewhere tomorrow. I-"

"You're going?" Dwight interrupts. He stands up from the step.

"Yes. Negan thinks I'm ready to go...since you've been telling him that I'm doing a good job." The way I say it sounds accusatory. Perhaps it is, I didn't sign up for this and I wouldn't need target practice or be going out at all if it wasn't for Dwight's accounts to Negan about me. _He's trying to_ _help you, Nan_. A familiar voice murmurs through my head. How? And why?

"Do you think you're ready?" He asks frankly. In all honesty, the only answer I have is a slight shrug.

"It's just a pick up, right?"

Dwight appears to be mulling my words over as he sharply blows smoke from his mouth. "Yeah." He drops his cigarette on the cement and steps on it. He gives me the up and down before turning to go inside. Out of nowhere, I step forward and gingerly put a hand on his arm. Dwight shifts half way to look at my hand and then at me, questioningly.

"Thank you," I begin, with my chest panging with uncertainty with what I'm doing. "For the, um, the sandwich."

Dwight nods, clearly puzzled by my weird gratitude. I retracted my lingering hand and go around him and through the entrance with warm cheeks. _Thank you for the sandwich? What the fuck, Nan?_

I mindlessly get in line for the commissary and resist the nerve to turn around and see if Dwight came inside yet. _Save yourself from further humiliation, you twit_. The man in front of me looks at down at me and shakes his head before turning back around. I huff and roll my eyes. I'm starting to remember why I prefer to be distant from people. I'm done be bothered by people's unreasonable resentment towards me. I didn't do anything wrong. When I finally make it to the front, I skip my usual protein bars and opt for a few ramen packets, oatmeal, and some powdered eggs.

"How much are those?" A pair of all black, high- top converse that are sitting on the floor in line with other shoes catch my eye.

"Forty-five points."

I glance down at the beaten up sneakers I'm wearing now; they're practically falling apart. I've had them since before I came here; I found them in a drugstore that had its window smashed out.

"What size?"

"Eight."

"I'll take 'em." I roll off my shoulders as the man goes to grab them for me, not allowing myself to feeling bad about using the points Negan gave me.

* * *

"Look at you!" Hal teases as I walk through the curtain with all my bounty held tightly against me.. "Who's got the black eye, then?"

I chuckle under my breath. "I was just at the commissary." I set the stuff down on my mattress. "Dinner's on me tonight," I lightly smile, "Let me go get the water."

"No, I'll get it." He stands up.

"It's okay, I got it."

"I'm going with you," Hal puts up a hand when I start to protest, "With what happened the other night, you're not going alone."

I roll my eyes, but nod in agreement. We head off to the kitchen together. Hal tells me that they spent the whole day getting the trucks ready for a big pick up tomorrow. When he asks me how my day was, I pretend to be ignorant of the pick up and choose not to tell Hal that I'll be going tomorrow. I do, apprehensively, tell him about target practice.

"Oh," Hal's quiet for a minute, "Any good?"

"I did okay."

Hal laughs and drapes an arm over my shoulder. "You'll be a proper Savior soon."

I nudge his ribs and start to laugh, when I catch sight of Laura and Dwight walking in our direction. They both see Hal and I as we pass. My appetite fades when Dwight's eyes meet mine. His face is expressionless, yet his eyes still bothers me. _You're just embarrassed for the sandwich thing._

"Alright?" Hal looks down at me.

"Yeah...I'm just tired." And a little upset for some reason.

* * *

 **Happy Holidays! I hope everyone has a safe and warm season! Next chapter, Nan is going to Alexandria!**


	8. To Earn What I Took

The truck moves through the gate and past all the growling sentinels that paw at the all the leaving vehicles with decomposing fingers. The large military truck that we sit in the back of weaves slowly in and out of the broken down cars that are parked to create a maze to the entrance of the Sanctuary. Dwight, Daryl, and I are seated at the very back, so I keep my head turned towards the open world behind us. The saint statues that are placed on the outside of the factory act as if they can fool anyone. When I first saw those things, nine months ago, they gave me the creeps and made me feel like I had somehow made a mistake in coming here. The truck we're on is the last to leave, so there's nothing obstructing my view of that God forsaken place.

I roll my shoulders and neck as I turn my attention to my feet. I hardly slept a wink last night, spending hours with my eyes closed, but never really nodding off. I'd like to say it was from anxiety and anticipation of going on this outing with Negan and the Saviors, but it I was more because of the disgust I felt with myself for looking forward to being outside for the first time in months. Even if it meant helping Negan extort people for their things. That's where the Sanctuary gets most of it's resources and supplies; other communities. Usually scouts, or Saviors in the outposts find settlements and then instantly lay down the rules in the name of Negan and, from what I've been told, customarily kill at least one of the groups members to get the point across. These communities are owned by Negan as much as we are and have to produce half of their stuff for him in exchange for protection. But those of us that live under the Saviors' embrace know how that works.

My mind keeps pulling away from this morning when Hal realized I was going on the run. When the factory was alive with Saviors getting ready for the outing, I was up before dawn, preparing as well. All the noise woke up everyone in the quarters, who didn't have to be up for another hour or two. When, from the side of my eye, I noticed Hal sitting up in his bed, I glanced over at him like I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar. He didn't say anything, just sighed and rolled over to face away from me. Hal's my only friend, if he stops speaking to me, I'll have no one to turn to.

My eyes flicker to what's in Dwight's hands. He's sitting across from me on the adjacent bench with a knife and half a wooden figure in his hands. I tiredly watch as he uses the knife to whittle the wood into a small person with such concentration. Some time goes by, I don't how long exactly, before his hands stop carving. When they do, I look up and see him staring back at me, obviously aware that I was observing his work. I would normally break eye contact with anyone who stared longer than two seconds, but I don't know what it is with Dwight that keeps my gaze so steadfast. Our staring contest is interrupted by a few Saviors hollering about the awful smell. It's Daryl. He was brought along for some reason and his odor does offend. He's sitting next to me, which is partly the reason why I kept my head facing the fresher air. I look back outside the truck and try to keep my left arm from touching the handgun that's holstered on my hip.

* * *

After three or four hours, the truck comes to a stop and I hear other engines die down and doors from other cars shut. The Saviors in the truck begin to stand, so I get up and quickly climb out of the truck and wait for Dwight and Daryl. I immediately marvel at the walls of this place before me. The walls are at least twenty feet high and reinforced by iron structures on the outside. There are run down cars on each side of the road that have large wooden spikes pierced through them. There's a sign on the right side wall near the gate that reads: **Welcome To The Alexandria Safe Zone.** **Mercy ****For The Lost.** **Vengeance ****For The Plunderers.** Safe zone. Bet they wish they had known about the Saviors before naming their community.

Everyone gathers around the entrance as Negan steps out of an old delivery truck and flaunts over to the gate with Lucille on his shoulder. Once he gets close enough, he stops whistling and starts bellowing the begging of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

"Dun, dun, dun, dun!" He then bangs Lucille against the gate bars. "Little pig, little pig! Let. Me. _In!_ "

A covered, chain-link fence that's on the other side of the gate rolls open a ways to reveal three people standing by a car. The young man who rolled back the fence looks confused, while the young Latina woman is unamused. The third person has a mullet and has an appropriate look of worry on his face.

"Well?" Negan says to the man standing at the gate.

"Uh, who are you?" The man replies.

"You better be kidding me! Negan. Lucille," He raises Lucille a little, " I know I had to make a pretty strong impression." Just as he finishes that sentence, a scruffy man comes up to the gate and peers out discontentedly at him. "Well, hello there!" The man just continues to stare at him. "Do not make me have to ask." Negan's voice becomes sterner from the friendly tone he had before.

The man walks over to the front of the gate. "You said a week," his voice is grating, "you're early." He grabs the bars and hauls the gate open by himself as the three other people stand behind him.

"I missed ya." Negan smiles. The growl of shuffler that managed to get through the maze of trucks makes Negan casually turn his head. "Oh, Rick, step out for minute and check this out. Calling it!" He motions for the man, Rick, to come forward a little. The man complies as Negan approaches the shuffler and cracks it across the head with Lucille, killing it. "Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!" He laughs. Rick seems unimpressed. "Alright everybody, let's get started. Big day."

Rick looks over towards the group of us that are along the wall. His eyes stop for a moment and look distressed before Negan starts to talk, again. He goes on to tell Rick that he's performed some type of "service" by killing the biter instead of one of the people in the community for not opening the gate soon enough. He flicks his wrist like a butler and repeats the word "Service." before handing Rick Lucille. "Here, hold this for me." When Rick takes the bat, Negan just strolls on into the community.

I follow Dwight through the entrance and am floored by the beauty of this place. There are bright green trees that surround the awesome houses and the paved roads and sidewalks. It's glorious, like it was untouched by Negan and the new world. What will look like when they get done with it? I'm so awed by the community's appearance that I bump into Dwight.

"Hot diggedy dog!" Negan yells out. "This place is motherfucking cocksucking magnificent!" He turns to Rick with a huge smile on his face. "An embarrassment of treasures as they say. Yes, sir, I do believe you will have plenty to offer up."

Rick looks over his shoulder in the direction where Dwight, Daryl, and I are standing. He turns around and slowly approaches us. "Daryl, hey-" Rick begins to talk to Daryl before Negan whips around and strides between them.

"Nope!" He firmly states. "He is the help. You don't talk to him, you don't look at him, and I don't make you cut a piece of him off for me." I look up at Dwight for some hint of explanation, but he only glances at me subtlety from the side. These are Daryl's people? Negan lazily approaches the Latina girl whose eyes are composed but full of fury. "Same goes for everyone, right?" Negan lurks over her, waiting for her to react. She just gravitates her strong glare over to him and then storms off. Negan sports a shit-eating grin on his face as he waves his fists in mock excitement. Or real excitement, who knows with this guy.

"Alright, let's see what goodies you have in the cupboard." Negan starts confidently down the street.

"We set a side half like-"

"No, Rick! No. You don't decide what we take. I do." Negan asserts. "Arat!"

Arat starts to move forward with a sod-off shotgun in both hands. When others don't follow, she turns her head. "You heard him. Move out!" She signals with her hands. Arat is of one of Negan's top Saviors. She is one tough woman who is not to be messed with, which is why the other Saviors hustle when she yells for them to get started. Dwight stays in place, so I do the same until I'm told to go do something.

As the Saviors file into Alexandria, Negan lightly claps his hands and leans over to Rick, who's clearly not liking the idea of Negan and his men scouring through his home. "They're just gonna search the houses a bit. Keep the process movin'." More people in the community are now present and obviously unhappy as they look to Rick for help and find him compliant and with Lucille in hand. "So, you gonna show me around or not?" Rick angrily stalks past Negan and he gleefully follows.

Dwight finally moves and I linger a bit with Daryl before slowly trailing behind. To my amazement, I notice that Daryl follows me to Dwight. Dwight's made his way to the car that looked like it was heading out when we arrived and over to the woman with the marble expression.

"Ro-see-ta!" Dwight pronounces mockingly at the woman who seems to know Dwight, much to her disdain. He blocks her from opening the car door. "Where ya goin' with your friend here?" The young man from before reappears at the car and starts to answer, but Dwight cuts him off. "You know what? I don't care." Dwight then takes the gun that was holstered to the girl's hip, sticks it in his bag, and then holds it open so that the guy can hand over his gun. I watch as he opens the car door and removes an assault rifle, which he slings over his shoulder. The two people individually glance over at me as he does and I stressfully pick at my thumb.

"Now that that's all settled," Dwight faces the woman, whom I'm assuming is named Rosita from Dwight's mockery, "I got a job for ya." Rosita looks at him incredulously as if he's joking. "Go get me Daryl's bike." Dwight orders.

"It ain't here." She claims.

"Well, if it ain't here, you know where it is, right?" Rosita stares coolly at Dwight. "We both know you know where it's at. So, go get it." As she starts to move to get into the car, Dwight stops her and snatches the hat from her head, which makes her eyes burn into him. Once she finally gets into the car, Dwight isn't done. He grabs canteen from the dashboard and dumps it out in front of her. She doesn't even watch the water fall to the ground, just despondently looks out the windshield. "Don't take too long." Dwight sneers.

As the car drives out of the community, Dwight turns towards Daryl and I. "You," he points to Daryl and then over his shoulder with his thumb, "go make yourself useful." Daryl goes off in a random direction. Dwight looks over me and I can feel my breath quietly heave with anger and nerves. _There's the asshole I know_. "C'mon."

* * *

Dwight and I work with others, loading the backs of trucks with damn near anything from the houses. Tables, chairs, lamps, boxes of random shit that I'm sure Negan probably hasn't even checked to see if there's anything of real importance or value. Dwight helps some of the Saviors carry out pieces of bed frames and mattresses from the houses. Whenever I enter the houses, it's clear to see that the Saviors are not just rummaging for goods, but also being assholes and making a mess. I've seen Davy once or twice rip stuff of the wall just because he can.

Every now and then, I catch sight of Negan toying with Rick and all the things collected on the lawns of the neighborhood. He just threw an orange soda on the ground after only taking one big gulp from it. I would consider that a luxury, wasted. A Savior named Gary hands Negan a camcorder and I faintly hear him say something about "a little freaky-deaky" with his fingers crossed. Whatever's on the tiny screen is amusing to Negan and he directs the camera to Rick, then himself. Rick looks utterly humiliated. Negan has that affect on people. As Dwight and I make our way to another house, I can't help but notice Negan moving the hand held camera along as we walk. When I meet his eyes, he smirks and raises his brows at me. I blankly turn my head back towards Dwight's back and continue to the other houses. "Nan!" _Jesus Christ_. Both of us pivot at Negan's deep voiced shout.

He waves me over and I nervously look to Dwight, but he's already walking off. "Hustle, girl!" Negan calls and I make haste to the lawn he's standing on. He closes the screen on the camcorder. "Put your hand out." When I do as he says, Negan places the device in my hand. "Hold on to this for me, darlin'." I grip it by the hand strap and stand by, unsure of what else to do. Negan winks at me with a wolfish grin and then redirects his attention to Rick. "Whatever happened to that sick girl? The way she was carrying on the other night, I'm guessin' she was married to guy number two, right?"

My eyes curiously move to Rick, waiting for him to answer Negan's question. Instead, he just stares daggers at Negan, which prompts Negan to give him a verbal warning. "Careful. Careful how you're looking at me, Rick." After a second, Rick's eyes fall. "Widows," Negan carries on, "especially ones that look like that. They are special. I love 'em. Right after their husbands go, they are just _empty_ inside. But usually not for looong!" He sings the last sentence teasingly.

A pit forms in my stomach at Negan's words. I imagine that he 'Guy number Two' was one of his victims from a few nights ago. The image of Lucille with dried blood on her barrel when Negan questioned me about Ronnie flashes in my brain. I close my eyes to try to break away the thought.

"Ah, where is she? I would love to see her."

"Would you care to pay your respects?" A soft voice asks from behind us.

"Ho-ly Crap!" Negan swiftly turns around as if he's taken by surprise. "You are creepy as shit! Sneakin' up on me, wearing that collar with that freaky ass smile!"

The voice came from a black man with kind eyes and a smile, holding his hands together. He's wearing a priest's collar, which surprises me, since you don't see too many people of faith with how things are nowadays. "My apologies," He humbly says while trying not to lower his smile, " I'm Father Gabriel."

A sudden odor lets me know that Daryl is approaching behind me. I glance back and see through the dirty hair in face that he's interested in what Father Gabriel has said. Negan looks to Rick with a straight face.

"She didn't make it?" He asks soberly. Rick lowers his head a bit in response.

"I can show you the way." Father Gabriel offers with his left hand extended out.

Negan nods and the three men start to follow the priest as he heads off. I step back quietly, determined to go find Dwight and carrying on working. Just as I'm about to turn around, Negan dryly calls my name over his shoulder to indicate that I should follow. I groan inwardly as I reluctantly jog to catch up to them. I feel self-conscious as we pass all the townsfolk, so to speak, that stand in the streets of their community and watch on as we make our way to wherever Father Gabriel is taking us.

We soon enter a graveyard that actually has dirt graves with headstones. Back home, Negan demands that the dead be burned. _Don't say home. That place is not your home._ The wall that stands erect by the sight bares names of the people whom must have died, even though it looks like the headstones have names as well. Father Gabriel stops us at an unmarked grave. I stand awkwardly between Negan and Daryl as I look down at the large rectangle of dirt.

"Damn tragedy." Negan says as he places his hands in his pockets. "That's what this is. Whoa, this must really suck for you guys." His damn smile starts to return. "Number one, that was on me. No choice there; lessons had to be learned. But number two...that didn't need to happen. Daryl there forced my hand. Probably put her right on her back, huh?" What? My head moves from Negan to Daryl who immediately avoids looking at me. What did Daryl do?

"Damn, I was gonna ask her to come back with me." Negan claims which makes Rick grimace at his insinuations. "Oh, I know what you're thinkin'." He seems to be addressing all of us who seem to share skepticism of this poor, dead woman ever agreeing to go back with him if she had survived. "How could I have shot? The guy that bashed her husband's head in. You'd be surprised. Boy, people they-" His incessant prattling is interrupted by the sound of a single gun shot firing in the background. _Oh, fucking hell._

Negan bares a dark scowl and his eyes are calm, but unmistakably furious. Rick meets his gaze with apprehension. Negan trudges past him and the priest towards the direction of where the gun sounded. Without a moment's thought, I notion for Daryl to follow me.

"Let's go. _Now_."

* * *

Although Negan, Daryl, and I started walking a few steps before Rick, he manages to not only catch up to Negan, but charges up the stairs and into the house before Negan. As I step onto the porch, Negan puts a hand out to stop me.

"Wait here, please." He instructs before striding into the house. I peer through the open door and can make out a kid in cowboy hat pointing a gun at Davy.

"He's taking all of our medicine! They said only half!" The kid shouts and Rick has a hand raised to try and calm him down. The boy's voice gets lower and all I can make out was something about 'how dangerous we all are.'

"Hey," Dwight startles me as he grabs my arm, "Come away from the door. Just in case the kid does something stupid." I look back at him, bewildered, as I walk down off the porch.

"Thanks." I want to kick myself for saying that after what an asshole he was this morning to the girl. _He helped you_. Yeah, I know, Dwight's super helpful.

Negan exits the house minutes later and when he spots me off the porch by Dwight, I catch a quick flinch of his brows that seemed to imply annoyance. "Rick is gracious enough to let us dip our hands in the candy jar," My face winces with confusion as to what the 'candy jar' is, "Let's go to the armory!" Oh, well, I doubt we're just dipping our hands in that. Especially after that kid pointed one at Davy, though it wouldn't be a total loss if he had shot him.

I walk alongside Dwight as we trek to wherever the armory is. As much as I hate to admit it, it takes the edge off having to pursue Negan around the neighborhood. Negan glances over his shoulder now and then to, I assume, make sure I'm still keeping up. A humored scoff quietly catches under my breath. I can't help but think about this one time when I was eleven and my dad chaperoned myself and a boy to a movie and how he would occasionally peek over his shoulder while sitting in the row in front of us to make sure we weren't doing anything suspect. The boy and I were just friends who both liked the old Frankenstein movies and wanted to go see one when our local theater was playing it during the Halloween season. The memory of the afternoon washes cold when I realize that I compared Dwight and I to such a scenario.

"Keep your distance from Davy." Dwight says randomly. I move my eyes side to side, but don't see him anywhere. I guess maybe since what happened to me the other night and with Davy being involved in that little tiff a moment ago, Dwight's just thinking rationally about Davy's temper.

A garage door opens to reveal baker's racks of cans and boxes of food. A timid, heavy-set woman wrings her hands with nervousness as she leads Dwight, some other Saviors, and I through a door. _Whoa, baby._ The room is small, but it's packed with weapons. These people were really well off until we came and now they'll have none of it left, because Negan wants to take it all. I guess it makes sense not to allow the other communities to guns or...is that a rocket launcher? Anyway, I guess the other communities are bigger threats to the Savior's way of life than those of us who sleep on their dirty floors.

"Here," Dwight opens his bag which makes me furrow my brows, "The camera." I totally forgot that I was holding the camera for Negan this whole time. I gently drop it in and Dwight quickly replaces it with a small box of ammo for me to take out. The houses have garden level entrances, which is where we exit out of to take the guns right to the truck that's waiting. Negan is as giddy as a foal with all the assault rifles and ammunition that we're pulling out of the room. Some of the handles on the pistols have a picture of Lucille carved into them, which confirms what Dwight said about them stealing guns from the outposts. I pass Daryl on the way up and jump when I hear a gun fire and broken glass so close to me.

It's Negan. He looks at me with his infamous grin, but I continue past him and hand the guy on the back of the truck a crate. "Well, ho-ly smokes!" I turn back to see Negan holding the RPG. "Look at this! It was you guys who took out Little Timmy and the Dick Brigade?" Oh yeah, those guys are dead. Rumor has it that they were smeared all over the road, but no one knew who did it. No one's particularly sad that's they're gone either.

"Man, I'm gonna have some fun with this!" Negan chimes. Just as I'm about to go back inside, Arat comes up with the fat lady by the arm.

"Arat, we don't do that," Negan scolds, "Unless they do something to deserve it." _Oh, really?_ I bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing.

"Yeah," Arat says, "We went through inventory, and they're short. Two guns: glock 9 and a 22." She hands him a notebook that was tucked under her arm.

Negan takes the book and gives Rick a look. "Is that true?"

"We had some people leave town. They might have-"

"So, Olivia fuckin' sucks at her job? Is that what you're sayin'?" The lady face winces fearfully at Negan's sharp tone.

"No I'm not sayin' that, I'm-"

"She has full accounting here, right? Top to bottom, am I right?" He turns to the lady.

"No... I mean yes. The inventory is correct." She answers.

"Good. But not so good, too. You see, what's in here isn't in there. You're two fuckin' hand guns short. Do you know where they are?" Negan inquires.

"N-no I-" She's cut off by Negan sighing.

"That's disappointing, Rick. I thought that we had an understanding, but this...well, this shows that someone's not on board. And I can't have that." He turns to the woman who's glancing at Rick for leadership. "I don't enjoy killing women," He claims, "Men, well I could waste them all the live long, but the at the end of the day, Olivia, my dear. This was your fault. This was your responsibility."

"We can work this out." Rick pleads.

"Oh yes, we can!" Negan shouts. "And I'm going to right now!" Olivia starts to cry, which makes Negan turn back to her. "This was your job and you screwed up. Keeping' track of guns. That shit is life and death." He growls, getting closer to her as she whimpers in fear. "Tell ya what, Rick," Negan says without breaking away from Olivia, "How about Olivia and I go hang out for a bit, while you go find my guns. Don't keep me waiting."

Rick rapidly stalks off and I shrink past Negan to go back into the armory.

I make my way down the stairs to go back inside when Negan comes from another room in the house. "Nan! Would you be a dear and come join Olivia and I for some lemonade?" I can see Olivia carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemonade out to a terrace. He leans in and whispers, "I think she's a little nervous and being the sweetheart that you are, I figured you'd be good at getting her to relax." He chuckles and I look off to the side in annoyance at his phony concern. "What do you say?" I eye up at him and open my mouth to speak, but he interrupts. "Great! After you."

I walk out to the terrace and Olivia stands sheepishly by a small patio table and two wooden chairs. "Olivia, this is Nan. Nan is going to sit with us." I try to give a weak smile, but I really don't want to endure the torment of having to sip lemonade with a woman who is scared shitless while trying to maintain her composure. "Wait a damn minute," Negan randomly booms, making Olivia nearly jump out of her skin. He points his finger at the chairs. "One, Two, ah hell, Olivia! There's not enough chairs!"

"I'll go get another one." She tries to leave, but Negan puts a gloved hand up.

"Well, I could always share mine with Nan," He grins over at me. I twist my mouth to the side and Negan throatily sneers. "You have enough to worry about, my dear. I'll go get the chair, if you'd be so kind as to point me in the right direction."

"There's more in the kitchen, down the hall." Olivia points.

"Alright, I'll be back shortly. Oh and Nan, pull out your gun." I hesitate for a second before slowly pulling the gun out my holster. "If Olivia moves, take your gun and make sure she doesn't." I get the sense he's being facetious, but Olivia whimpers and cowers down onto chair. I want to tell her to not worry, but I'm worried that Negan won't be in good-humor if her people don't produce the missing guns in time. _What he wasn't kidding?_

Negan returns promptly with a kitchen chair that he sets beside me and gestures for me to sit. He takes a seat next to Olivia and pours lemonade into both glasses. He then offers one to her, but she shakes her head. Negan then extends the glass to me, which I take and set on my knee and let my hand keep it steady while the other re-holsters the gun. He stretches out his body and crosses his legs while taking a sip from his glass. We sit in silence for a few moments, which is weird since Negan loves the sound of his own voice. It's bizarrely nice to see him a couple notches down.

"Nan?" He finally speaks.

"Yes?"

"Where's that camera I asked you to hold for me?"

"It's in Dwight's bag." My answer looks like it bothers him a little.

"Really? I thought I asked you to carry it. Not push it off on D."

"Well, I had to put it down so I could help load the guns. He offered to hold it for me." When I see that his brows are knit together at me, I stand up. "I'll go get it."

"Nah, relax. That's a fair enough answer." He replies with a smile. Olivia fiddles with her shirt as he extends his arm over the back of her chair. "The camera will be fun to have back home." He laughs to himself. I scowl, as his eyes light up with what I can only guess is elation at what he's going to use the camera for. Ew.

"Um, Olivia?" I place the glass down by my chair. "Do you have a bathroom I could use?" I feel stupid asking as if we really are just guests having lemonade, but I need to go away from here. Now.

"Oh, yes, it's um, upstairs. Third door on the left." She has a begging look on her face for me to come back. I nod and move to leave, but Negan's legs are blocking my way. He smirks and waits for me to ask him nicely to move them, but I just step over and go inside.

I scale the stairs and calmly walk past Gary and some others who are heading down. Once I get to the third door on the left, I go inside ad shut it quietly. The big mirror on the wall reveals my reflection. It's been awhile since I've seen what I look like. I try to deepen my breaths as I stare at the faint bruises on my neck and the cut on my lip. Negan's right, I could stand to put some weight on. I hear some noise outside and go to the window. The window is over the bathtub, so I step in to view Davy holding something in his fist and standing in front of a young girl. I can't hear what's being said, but the look on her face and the way he strokes her cheeks with his finger, makes my breathing sharpen. I slink down to my knees in the tub and run my fingers through my hair. "Shit!" I exhale under my breath. What am I doing here with these fucking animals? Why did I so eagerly want to come? I went from baking bread to terrorizing people for a lunatic in a few days time. Olivia could die and I could be the one who has to shoot her. _Calm the fuck down and get out of the tub._ I rub my nose with the back of my hand and stand up. I fix my ponytail as I leave the bathroom.

As I step down the stairs, I see Dwight's blonde hair shine as he passes by a window. As crazy as it sounds, I'm desperate to be out there with him. He's an asshole, but trailing him is far better than sitting with Negan. Really, I just want to be anywhere Negan isn't. _I am everywhere!_ His voice even invades my head. Damn, he is everywhere. I take a deep breath and return to the terrace. Negan is quietly in the same position from when I left, gazing up at the sky. As soon as he gets a glimpse of me, his smile peaks back up.

"I was fuckin' startin' to think you fell in." He chuckles. I sit back down and ignore the fact that his eyes haven't lost their attention to me. Ten minutes pass before Negan sits up. "Well, it's time to go see if Rick fixed your mistake for you, Liv."

The three of us exit the house and meet Arat and Dwight by the truck. Rick, Father Gabriel, and the kid from earlier walk up together and Rick hands Negan a velvet bag.

"What do you have from me, Rick?" Negan opens the bag and peers in. "Well, would you look at that? Here all along. Funny, how a little holy-shit-somebody's-gonna-die lights a fire under everyone's ass!" He hands Dwight the bag and Dwight relays it to the guy in the truck. The man then hops out of the truck and pulls the sliding door down and locks it. "Alright, let's move out."

* * *

We all walk to the entrance of Alexandria and just as we do, a van and the car that left come driving through.

"Hell of a place you have here, Rick." Negan grins.

"Give me a second." Rick asks nodding off to something outside the gates. Negan swiftly turns around and after apparently spotting whatever Rick saw, turns back.

"No." He simply replies.

Rick's face twists. "Please. Can you just...give me a second?" Negan satisfyingly grins at Rick's plead and curtly nods. Rick moves past him and then jogs over to a shack a few feet away. He comes back after a few minutes with a rifle and explains that it was hidden outside and not on the inventory logs. He also says that thought 'she' was scavenging, when she was really hunting. Just as my mind begins to wonder whom this 'she' is, a black woman with dreadlocks strolls up with a deer over her shoulders. Like the woman from this morning, she is clearly pissed to see us here.

"This is something to build a relationship on." Negan beams as he takes the gun off Rick's hands. "Good for you, Rick! This is readin' a room and get the fuckin' message. I said it before, I'm gonna say it again. You, sir, are fuckin' _special_."

"Now that you know that we can follow the rules..."

"Yes?" Negan smugly asks, knowing that Rick's about to grovel.

"I'd like to ask you if Daryl could stay."

"Not happening. Well...I don't know. Maybe Daryl could plead his case. Maybe, he can _sway_ me." Negan looks at Daryl. "Daryl?" Daryl is silent. Stubborn bastard. Negan laughs and then returns to Rick. "Well, you tried. Now, what you gotta do is get over that tall wall of yours and try harder. _Earn_ for me, because we're coming back soon and you better have something interesting for us or Lucille will have her way. I want you hear that again. If you don't find something interesting for me, then somebody's gonna die. And no more magic guns." Rick looks down in understanding. "Arat, grab that deer and get it loaded. It's gettin' late, let's go home!"

The woman with the deer blatantly drops it from her shoulders and stalks off. "Man, I love a gal that buys me dinner and doesn't expect me to put out!" Negan laughs as he watches her go. The man, who left with the girl that Dwight was hassling, unloads a motorcycle from the van that pulled in and Dwight walks over.

"I'll take that." He says and the guy backs off. "Ro-see-ta! Got a little thank you." He fishes out her hat and tosses it to her. She catches it bitterly. "That's all you're gettin' back. Took all your guns, most of the beds. I sure hope you find somewhere to lay your pretty little head." Dwight laughs at her resentful face. "Find anything else out there?" He flippantly adds while mounting the bike.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and purses her lips. "Just your dead friends." She retorts nonchalantly and places her hat back on her head as she turns her back to him. Dwight scoffs before firing up the engine and driving it a few feet to the entrance.

Daryl and I stand by as he rides right up to us. A twinge of anxiety gripes at my stomach as he does. _Don't leave me here with just Negan and the rest of them._ He glances up at Daryl. "You can have it back. Just say the word." He tells him. But Daryl remains solid in saying nothing. Dwight shrugs and then looks over to me. "Get him in the truck and stay clear of Davy." His warning makes me realize that Davy is close by and I nod meekly.

"Oh, wait!" I put my hand on his arm. Dwight looks down at my hand and I snatch it away. _Stop doing that, you freak!_ "Can I have the camera?" Dwight nods slowly before reaching into his bag and handing over the camera. I gently take it and without another second, Dwight revs the bike and speeds off. I watch him go, disappointed. My index finger claws at my thumb. Negan is still taunting Rick about how he thinks the two of them will find some understanding. What more clarification needs to be found? It's Negan's way or no way. Isn't that crystal clear to everyone who lives by his rules?

"You want me to go, Rick?" Negan finally asks.

"I think that'd be good." He answers dryly.

"Then just say those two magical words."

Rick looks to the side and nearly makes eye contact with me. He nods, defeated. "Thank you."

"Don't be ridiculous! _Thank you!"_ Negan chuckles. Another rotter trudges onto the road and Negan glances over his shoulder. "Oh, look, another one. You need our help again. Davy hand me that candlestick." Davy gives him a big, gaudy stick and he faces the corpse. I notice Rick's grip on Lucille tighten with rage, but I don't think he's reckless enough to actually think about trying to crack her over the back of Negan's head. "Watch my form!' With that said, he swings the candlestick into the rotter's head, splitting it so it's face hangs off. Once that's done, Negan discards the stick to the side and tells Rick to clean it for when he returns. Rick looks submissively to the ground. "Let's move out!"

Everyone starts to disperse. I turn my head to Daryl on my side. "Come on," I say dully, "let's go home." _It's not home!_ He follows me as I move on over to the truck we came in. Once we get there, I allow Daryl to climb in first. When it's my turn, Gary stops me from pulling myself up.

"Hold it, there's no more room. We had to make space for shit, so go find a truck with room for you."

"But I-"

"Save your breath and go find a different truck." He orders adamantly.

I bite my lip and look around to see if there are any available. I notice Davy get into a truck that has some room and I immediately count that one out. I back away from the truck and scan the area for another truck.

"Nan!" _Fuck! Seriously?_ My eyes dart over to Negan who, aside from Rick, is the only other person standing outside. "Why aren't you loaded up yet?" I reluctantly look to the truck where Davy is and open my mouth, though I'm not sure what to say. "Answer me!" He yells.

"I...there isn't room in the truck, so I was look-"

"Stop draggin' your ass and get in." He points to the delivery truck he rode in and I quickly jog over. "Nice hustle!" Once I climb in, I realize that there are only two seats and there's a guy sitting in the driver's seat. The back of the truck is filled with a bunch of Rick's stuff and there's no chance of me squeezing in between all these things. I could sit by the open door and put my feet on the step, but then I risk falling out if we take a sharp turn or hit a nasty bump in the road. The only other option is to sit in the small corner behind the driver's seat with my legs pulled up to me while cradling the camera in my arms.

"Oh, how careless of me," I hear Negan outside the truck, "You didn't think I'd leave Lucille here, do you? I mean, after what she did, why would you want her?" Does this guy ever stop? "Thanks for being so accommodating, friend!" I roll my eyes at his sarcasm. "In case you haven't caught on," He continues lower, but not low enough that I can't hear from where I'm sitting, "I just slid my dick down your throat and you _thanked_ me for it." My mouth drops in shock, although I don't know why. Far be it from Negan to pass on an opportunity to be vulgar and kick a man while he's down. I hear a hand bang twice on the side of the truck and Negan instantly enters and sits down in the passenger's seat. The guy starts the car and drives forward. The body of that roamer acts as a speed bump as we pull out of the community.

"Jesus, I am fuckin' tired as all hell!" Negan exhales as he places Lucille between his legs. The back doors open and I crane my neck for a final glimpse of that beautiful, now broken place. The truck that Daryl's in blocks my view of Rick who just helplessly watches as we leave with what Negan determined to be half and a member of his community. A breeze whirls in from the back and I shiver as I lean against the metal wall. "Did you have fun today, sweetheart?" I look up at Negan who's slightly turned to view me sitting on the truck floor. _No, not at all._ I glance down at my knees and refuse to answer. "Is that my camera?" Without looking at him, I hold it out for him and he takes it with a chuckle.

"This is a nice little treasure to take home, don't you think?" Neither the driver or me respond, but the guy does briefly glance over. "Nan let me ask you a question." _Am I in hell?_ "Would you be pissed if your husband wanted to record you and him while you two were goin' at it?" He looks at back me to see if I'm listening. "Hypothetically, if you had a husband, is that something that would interest you?"My cheeks flush with anger as he laughs lightly. He refrains from speaking for a while after that, mostly because I think he's tired from all the gabbing he did today.

* * *

My eye lids start to feel heavy after a few miles, but the truck suddenly comes to a stop, which re-alerts me. Negan gets out and I chose to follow out of curiosity.

The Saviors are unloading the mattresses from the trucks. I look around to see if Dwight had stopped too, but he's nowhere in sight. I watch bewilderingly as they stack the mattresses into a pile on the side of the road. Negan saunters over to me and grabs my hand and puts something in it. When I open my hand, I discover a lighter. _No._ Some of the men douse the mattresses with fluid and I become aware of what is being done. A hand gently touches my upper back and encourages me forward.

"Go on, light it up, Nan." I dart my eyes up at him and his face becomes stern. "Rick, his son, and the rest of those people need a good reminder of what happens when they act up and hide guns. And you need to prove that you earned what you took today." I swallow hard before glancing over at the pile and then anxiously approach it. Some guys are lighting matches and throwing them down to try and start a fire, while others stand by and watch as I move forward. I flick the lighter and produce a flame as I squat down to the closest mattress. I take a hard breathe before placing the open flame on the fabric and hold it there until the mattress starts to smoke and burn. The fire licks up the mattress and ignites some of the ones near and under it. Some Saviors whistle in approval.

"That's my girl!" Negan claps. I promptly back away and go back to the truck, handing Negan the lighter on my way. A few people keep their eyes on me as I pass, but I could care less. An arm drapes over my shoulder and Negan walks with me back to the truck. The driver returns shortly behind us and gets in to start the truck. I resume to my spot on the floor and soon we're back on the road. Negan whistles which makes my eyes numbly move up to him.

"For a girl who made bread a few days ago, you are really shaping up to be quite the Savior." My throat constricts. I'm disgusted with myself. "You know, I honestly thought you wouldn't be able to hack it, but I'm thinkin' you might be _full_ of surprises." _Full of ugliness, you mean._ I'm an awful person who didn't have a shred decency refuse to set fire to those people's beds. I just put the flame down to earn what I took. Taking all their medicine and all the other shit was bad, but this? This was just inexplicably cruel. Insult to injury. I lay the side of my head on my knees. _You should be ashamed._ Tears gather around my eyes. I am.

* * *

 **Author's note: This was a hell of chapter to write, since I wasn't sure how far to push Nan this early on. Hope you all enjoyed! Thank you minstorai and guests that reviewed my previous chapters! Everyone have a happy new year! As always, reviews are welcome. Also, feel free to PM me.**


	9. Whatever Warmth May Be Provided

I spend the rest of the ride back to the Sanctuary with my eyes closed, begging to fall asleep, but sitting on the hard floor of this truck makes it difficult. Especially since the driver keeps purposely hitting lone roamers that occasionally wander onto the road. Every time it happens, both him and Negan laugh like teenage boys as the decomposing bodies splatter against the windshield and the truck bounces when it goes under. I attempted to rest my head in my arms that are crossed on my knees, but after kneeing myself in the head a few times because of this fucking nonsense, I resort to leaning back on the wall of the truck. _Thud!_ Another one bites the truck.

"Boom!" Negan heartily bellows. "That makes five! Shit, I don't know about you, but I think we had a banner fucking day!"

"Those people were sittin' on a gold mine." The driver agrees.

"Tickles my balls." I hear what sounds like Lucille tap on the floor between Negan's legs. "I hope the wives are up for a little ball ticklin' when we get back, because I..." His words abruptly stop for few seconds. "Well, isn't that cute? She fell asleep back there."

"Want me to swerve a little to wake her up?" Both assholes snicker.

"Nah, let her sleep. Not like she'd contribute to the conversation anyway." _You're damn right about that._

"She the one that killed Ronnie?"

"That she did. Saved me the trouble having to deal with that shit."

"Never much cared for the guy. His jokes were terrible." I struggle to not make a face at his flippant remark. That's why you didn't care for Ronnie? His terrible jokes? I hear him clear his throat. "He, uh, raped her?"

"Nope. Some woman who works in the coops." The tone of his voice dampens.

"You don't know who?"

"She came to Reed, Reed didn't give a specific name. Nan saved her."

"That why she's under D?"

"That would be the reason."

"Yeah, D seems to like her under him." He snickers low.

Negan laughs dully. "Dwight isn't interested in pussy at the moment."

"Why 'cause that guy bit the hell out of his dick?" _Did I hear that right?_ "Is it broken?"

Negan chuckles in his throat. "That's what I thought. I told him he could have pick of the pussy, as long as they're willing, and he said no. Apparently his penis isn't down for the count."

"Maybe it's his face. Who'd want to sit on a face like that?"

"Well, whoever did could say she sat on two faces at once." Negan and the driver laugh like hyenas. My cheeks burn up.

"Would've thought he'd be gettin' some from her for that stunt he pulled the other night."

"What stunt?"

"Davy grabbed her ass the other night and she spilled hot water on him. Dwight stepped in and stopped Davy from hitting her again."

"Again?"

"Yeah, he back handed her.

"Huh." By the tone of his response, Negan seems like he's mulling this information in.

"D made her clean up the water, but then he waited for her to finish before leaving with her. Maybe she gave him a friendly thank you. Chicks get all hot for heroic shit like that."

If my eyes weren't closed, I'd roll them. It gets harder to maintain a slow and steady breathing pattern to fake that I'm asleep. Even though they think I'm sleeping, how are they so callous with what they're saying about me? _Look who you're talking about, dumbass_. I desperately want to pick at my thumb or bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself from the anger that's rising up inside me. Is that what everyone thinks about me? Negan, the Saviors, the point-workers? That I'm screwing Dwight?

"About fucking time!" The sound of Lucille knocked against the metal floor nearly makes me leap.

The truck weaves in and out and the snarling of our biters is within earshot. We finally come to a stop and I feel the truck dip as the two men exit the truck.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Negan says low. Before I can open my eyes, I feel a hand touch my left knee and I jerk my knee to the side to get his hand off me. My eyelids lift and immediately our eyes meet. Negan's standing in the door way with his arms on the sides and a devilish smile splayed across his face. "We're home," He hums, "and you have work to do."

I twitch my mouth to the side and then place my hands on the floor to scoot myself forward. My legs slide down to the step, but Negan's still leaning in the way, so I can't get out. I look up coldly up at him and his just glances down. His smile remains, yet his eyes seem like their searching for something in mine. Something that likely isn't there. I finally look under his arm, out at the people hopping off the trucks, which makes Negan look over his shoulder. He steps back and extends his arm, offering me his hand. I begrudgingly take it and he pulls me up and out of the vehicle.

"Alright, get the shit in the back unloaded. The boys will take care of the rest."

I walk to the back and pull back the heavy doors. Once I secure them from swinging, I get to work straight away. I place the first box by the side of the truck and, to my relief; Negan is off dishing out orders. Each time I place more things to the side, I can't help but to scour the yard with my eyes. After what Negan and that other guy were saying, I don't want admit it, but I'm looking for Dwight in the sea of Saviors that are carting today's bounty off all the trucks. How could anyone think I'd just up and blow Dwight or whatever? I barely know him. _That's never stopped you before._

All the easy stuff has been taken off the truck, which leaves all the heavier items that I can't lift by myself. I try to pick up a piece of bed frame to see if I can carry it out, but that's not going to happen. Still standing on the truck, I peer out to see if there's anyone close by to flag down. That's when I see Laura stroll by. I hold onto the side and carefully jump down.

"Hey!"

She turns around and sees me shyly walking towards her. Her raised brow asks a question.

"Uh, I need help with some stuff in the back." I thumb the truck behind me. She eyes the truck and then gives me a quick up and down. Laura looks like she might be about to tell me too bad.

She nods. "Okay, let's get it done." Oh, nice.

It might be the fact that I'm a little malnourished, compared to Laura, but this stuff is really fucking heavy. But with her help, we both manage to get all the bigger things out of the back and to the side of the truck. Some Saviors are already grabbing the stuff we laid out and taking off to wherever.

"Thanks." I tell her, wiping sweat off my forehead.

"Sure." She places both hands on her hips and looks at the dwindling pile of goods. The sun is starting to set and the temperature is cooling down.

"All done?" Negan asks loudly as he heads back over.

I nod my head and Laura gives him a 'yes, sir.'

"Excellent work, ladies. Laura go help Arat with the guns. Pull the truck around to the armory, make sure Reed is there when you stock everything, so he can take inventory."

Laura curtly nods before leaving.

"You...you can take Daryl back to his box. Feed him and then you're done for the day."

I promptly walk past him to go get Daryl who's setting down some crates.

"Hey, come back a second." I stop a few feet away from him. His voice sounds blunt. Did I do something wrong? "Nan." Uh,oh.

I turn to face him and his beckons me over with a rigid, curling finger. I gingerly tread over to him and his severe face. I stop two feet in front of him and glance doe-eyed at him. Without looking, he reaches down into a crate pulls out a medium sized ,sea-glass vase. It's rosy pink and geometric, which makes it look like jewel.

"Here ya go," He holds the vase up to me, "You earned it." I unsurely look at him. What would I want with a vase? "Put it on top of your trunk, brighten up the place." He jests.

I timidly accept it and tuck it under my arm. I know you 'earn what you take' around here, but I'm pretty sure Negan doesn't just typically dole out random junk to the Saviors. Not like this anyway.

"Um, thanks."

A smile spreads on Negan's face and he licks his bottom lip. "You bet, sweetheart."

I take Daryl back down to the cells while attempting to fight the nausea that builds in my stomach. When I approached Daryl outside, he looked at the vase under my arm and then up at me like I was thief. I don't blame him if he thinks that. Once we get there, I realize I don't have any bread for the sandwich, so we have to turn around and head to the baking area. People icily stare as we make our way to through the factory.

"Hold on, we need to stop for a second." I tell Daryl as I veer to the left to where my quarter is. I peel back the curtain and go over to my trunk and stick the vase inside. Can't have people seeing it and hating me anymore than they already do. I grab a protein bar and check the date. It's still good. When I turn to leave, I notice Daryl looking around the quarters. "C'mon."

It feels strange to walk up to the bakers and take bread without having to pay for it. I mouth a 'hi' to one of the bakers who hands me a knife to cut the stale bread with. I forbid my eyes from focusing on anything or anyone else as I'm cutting the bread. I take the two halves and Daryl and we head back to the cells.

"Hey." Dwight is suddenly at my elbow.

"Uh, hi."

"You need the keys." He hands me them but continues to walk with us. Shit!

I unlock the closet door where the dog food is and slip inside to make the sandwich. As I use the can opener, I hear Dwight make some snide comment about how smoothly Daryl's bike runs. The wrapper of the protein bar slides off seamlessly and I have no choice but to squish into the dog food and under the half of bread to conceal it. I crumple the wrapper and put it my pocket.

We all go down the hall to Daryl's cell and I walk a few steps a head to unlock the door. I put the plate down on the floor in the cell and avert my eyes when I see the photo. Daryl doesn't have to be pushed into the cell anymore. He just goes in; probably glad to be done with this long day. Once he's in, I close and lock the door and hand the keys back to Dwight.

"I'll take your gun back." He says. I undo the holster and hand it to him. His fingers brush mine as he takes it from me and I put my hand down to my side in a weird motion. We part ways and even though I don't want to, I go back to the quarters.

Hal's sitting on his mattress when I get there, eating some oatmeal. He doesn't look my way when I plop down on my bed. I untie my shoes and pull them off my feet, glancing over at him every now and then. I want to say something to him, bitchy or friendly, but like my normal self, I don't say anything. If he wants to give me the silent treatment, that's fine with me. I'm a pro at being quiet and can put anyone under the table with that game. I crawl under my blanket and go to sleep.

* * *

 _The steam makes everything murky in the bathroom. Standing in the shower, we're entangled around each other, kissing passionately. My eyes are closed to keep the water out. It's Thanksgiving afternoon and all my family members are downstairs. The men can all be heard yelling collectively at some referee's bad call on a football game. Meanwhile all the women are laughing over wine, cheese, and crackers while waiting for the potatoes to finish boiling on the stove. And all the kids are outside playing in the snow out in the street._

 _We should be down there with them, joining in on the festivities. Him, laughing at all the others as they're team loses against his and me, sipping my wine as I pretend to be enjoying the conversation I'm not really part of. Trying not to look down at my phone, where a text message from Sylvie waits to be opened. Instead, we're both in here: fucking in the shower as quietly as we can. I slipped on some ice outside by the cars while smoking one of his cigarettes and got slush and mud all in my hair. I went up to take a quick shower in the bathroom that's in my childhood bedroom. I brought my phone up with me and weakly gave in to reading the text._

 _'Happy Thanksgiving! Are you off tomorrow? Maybe we can meet for coffee? Xoxo.' My thumb circles the air around the letters, contemplating what to text back._

 _'I can't. We're going up to his parent's cabin to spend the weekend with them tomorrow.' Just then, he enters the room. I hit the lock screen button on my phone and toss it on my bed._

 _"Hey, just checkin' up on you," He grins, "Ice-two, Nan -zero?" I walk briskly over to him and kissed him lustfully. I start to pull off the sweater that I made him wear, but he pulls my hands away and scans my face. I break loose from his gentle grasp and walk past him to close the door._

 _"What's gotten into you?"_

 _"Nothing. Want to help me fix that?" I pant as pull off my turtleneck and unzip the back of my skirt. He eyes me, unsure of what to make of this._

 _"We're at your parent's house, everyone's downstairs. You really want do this now?" He asks with raised brows. After I kick my booties off and rapidly strip out of my pantyhose, I walk to the bathroom and start the shower. He follows._

 _My mother comes up after a few minutes. She lightly knocks and asks if everything's okay. I assure her that everything's fine as I put my hands down the front of his pants. He waits to hear her footsteps fade off, until he grabs my face and kisses me. He moans into my mouth and quickly undresses as I get into the shower._

 _He turns me around and pushes me against the tile wall that my fingertips grip when he puts his mouth on my neck. He enters me from behind and I whimper in pleasure. My face presses to the wall as he steadily thrusts into me. I feel his hand snake around my right thigh, which he lifts while continuing the rhythm. A series of whistles call over the running water and I open my eyes._

 _" You hear that?"_

 _"It's okay," the voice sounds familiar, but it isn't his voice, "Just the guys watching football." I push myself from the wall and turn my head to look at him. Something hard knocks the inside of my chest when I see who it is._

When I flinch awake, it's still dark in the factory. Hal's asleep on his back, his arm masks his eyes. I turn over on my back and stare up at the square windows. Some of them are clear, while others are yellow or faded. By the darker color of the sky that I see from the clearer panes, it'll be dawn soon. I close my eyes, despite not wanting to go back to sleep after that dream I just had. It was troubling to me, in more ways than one.

* * *

When it's time to get up, I sneak a glance over at Hal. He doesn't look over at me or even say good morning like he usually does. I won't lie; it irks me a little more than I thought it would. Hal, for the short time that I've known him, has always been an easygoing person who never stays angry for very long. I've frustrated him a few times with my indifference towards other people and their problems and he's chided me in those times, but he always gets over being upset with me.

I meet Dwight by the cell an hour later. I avoid eye contact with him and every time he speaks to me, my cheeks flush. He doesn't even say anything out of the ordinary. We drop Daryl off at the fences and spend a few hours doing some other things Negan wanted done. A little before two, we grab Daryl and have him mop the halls on the second floor. Some pipes burst and the whole floor has flooded. Now, the whole factory has no running water. Our running water situation is tricky. The factory already had all of what was necessary for water to pump through this place, but it still took a while from what I'm told to rig the system up to work in a world that doesn't have city water services to provide water. I suppose we're lucky to have any running water at all, but in truth, the water pipes go on the fritz almost every other month.

Negan's already there to inspect the mess and inquire about a solution. Marcus, the guy who apparently got the water running in the first place gives him the low down and what might work to fix the problem.

"We might not have running water for another day or two." He reports.

"Well, that's just fuckin' terrific," Negan sighs angrily as he runs a hand over his scruffy face.

"We'll also need some people to go down and gather up some water to refill the tanks."

"Alright," Negan turn his head to see our trio approaching, "Dwight, go round up ten or so people for an outing to get water. Take Daryl here with you and shoot one of those bolts through the back of his knee if he tries to run." He smiles at Daryl's unfazed expression. He turns back to Marcus. "In the meantime, until this fucking matter is fixed, bathing privileges are revoked. As is any other unnecessary water usage."

"Can I go?" I softly ask Dwight, although I guess that question should have been for Negan.

"Look at you!" Negan booms before Dwight can open his mouth to answer. "Someone's got a taste for being out in the big, bad world." I look up at him timidly, scratching at the cuticles around my thumb. "That's a lot of hard work, sweetheart, and you'll be sore and drenched down to the fuckin' bone."

"I don't mind."

He licks his bottom lip and widens his grins. "You don't mind being sore and wet?" I suppose I sort of walked into that one.

I stifle an eye roll. "I just want to help," my mind races for anything to convince him, "And if I go, there'll be two set of eyes on Daryl." _You lair, you don't care if he escapes._

Negan's eyes shift across my face, looking for any signs of bullshit. "You know what, Nan? You have initiative. I like that." I allow a sweet smile to inch up, for icing on the cake. "Dwighty boy looks like you have your first pair of hands." Yes!

"Okay," Dwight looks at Daryl and motions his head to the side, " let's move." Daryl exits the bathroom. I turn to follow when Negan halts me by grabbing my chin between his ungloved fingers. I tense up as he tilts my head in his direction.

"What do we say?"

"Thank you, Negan." I mutter and he releases me.

Dwight tells me to be out front in thirty minutes, so I run to my quarter to get a quick bite to eat. As I'm kneeling by my trunk, I notice a girl who lives under the '46' sign talking to another woman who lives two mattresses down from Hal. They're both sitting on the latter's bed, gazing at me. After ignoring them while I rummage around my trunk, I finally stand up when I hear a faint 'whore' hush in the air between them.

They look dully, yet scornfully at me. I sigh through my nose "You know, at least have the decency to say it to my face." At that, the younger of the two stands up. She can't be much older than me. She goes to leave, but before she does, she looks me square in the eye.

"You seem to be doing well, working with D, She says dryly, "Or doing him well, that is."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, things are rough around here and people do what they can to get by and-"

"And you think my way of getting by is by screwing Dwight?"

"No one cares if you're fooling around with him for extra food or whatever, but it's a little reprehensible when you're _working_ your way up the ladder."

I scoff at her cold bluntness. "I don't know what people are saying, but I'm not _working_ my way up the ladder. But if I was, don't you think I'd just blow Negan? Seems like it would advance me quicker." I saucily chuckle.

Hal enters the quarters and gives a look of concern. He likely just heard what I, sardonically, said. I look away, flustered.

"Why don't have a little self-respect?" She adds as she turns to leave. My blood boils as that cutting remark hits me hard. _Not this old line, again._ Without thinking, I storm forward, but Hal drops whatever's in his hands and stops me. I try to push him away, but he gets a good hold on me.

"Why don't you go to hell and mind you own business?!" I shout after her. She doesn't acknowledge me as she leaves the quarters. "God, let go of me, Hal!" I rail against him to break free. He loosens his grip, but not enough for me to be able to get away.

"You need to simmer down, " He says, bending a little to be face to face with me.

"You need to let go of me." I retort adamantly. He lets go and I huff furiously at him.

"What's the matter with you?"

I breathe heavily and feel the heat in my face that was probably already there before I noticed. "What's wrong with _me_?" I snap incredulously. "What's wrong with _you_? Did you not hear what she said?"

"So, I should've let you bash her?"

"She and everyone here is judging me for something I have no control over. And saying horrible things and I'm just suppose to roll it off?" He stares at me with furrowed brows like I'm insane. " Just grin and bear it like you told me to do?"

"What?"

"You told me to 'grin and bear it' a few days ago and now you and everyone else think I'm a whore." Tears threaten the horizon.

"I don't think that, Nan." He sighs, shaking his head.

"Then why are you giving the cold shoulder all of the sudden?"

"You didn't tell me you were goin' on that pick up yesterday. I'm worried about you."

"I didn't think it was a big deal," I lie, "Why are you worried about me?"

"Because like four or five fucking days ago you couldn't stand Dwight or any of 'em for that matter and in this short amount of time, you've managed to get in good graces with Negan. Enough for him to double your points and trust you enough to let you leave with them yesterday!"

"How do you know my points were doubled?" I never mentioned to him that my points had been doubled. He knows I'm still working for points, but not double.

"People heard him tell Reed to. People talk, mate."

I lick my lips. "I didn't ask for that. I didn't want him to do that."

"I know, but it doesn't stop people from thinking you're hurrying up the process, or that you'll be another Dwight."

"Hurrying up the process? Process for what?"

"Becoming a Savior, mate. Like Dwight when he handed over his wife."

"That is not what happened and you know it!"

"Bollocks, Nan! He fucked up and had to make turn around to survive. Let his wife take one for the team."

"You can hardly judge him on something you don't understand!"

"You are fucking unreal!" Hal and I are in each other's face at this point. Our increasing volumes have definitely drawn some attention. "Sharon's rapist takes her knickers and you turn your nose up at her crying. But Dwight gets his face ironed and then becomes a cold-blooded killer, and you're suddenly a bleedin' heart? Fucking hell, Nan, is that all it takes to make you empathize?" I close my mouth as he snickers sarcastically. "One side your face has to look like grilled cheese?" _Crack_!

My hand stings with how swift and forceful I smack Hal's face. Hal eyes cool down as he continues to look at me. What have I've done? _You struck Hal._ My eyes pool with tears of regret and all I can do is just stare at him and wait for his response. His face deepens with concern.

"Are the rumors true then?" He softly asks. His tone doesn't appear to be cruel, but I still swallow the lump in my throat with anticipation. "You can tell me. Has Dwight...or Negan-" I impulsively slap him again before he can finish that sentence.

"Hey!" A familiar voice calls behind me. Hal's eyes storm over my shoulder and then back to me. My eyes scowl at the all the point-earners that are in quarters, watching this shit show. I twist my torso and spy Dwight on the other side of my mattress with his crossbow his hand. His eyes survey Hal and the rest of the people. "The truck's ready, you need to come on, if you wanna go."

I shift back around and look at Hal whose eyes are soft, but cool. I step on my mattress and march out of the quarters, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Dwight yells for everyone to go back to work. _You hurt the only friend you have._

When we get out front, there are two pick up trucks with some Saviors in the back. Daryl's sitting in the back of one of them. Large containers take up any vacant space. Two more trucks pull up and the backs are strictly filled with more containers. I'm curious to know where Dwight and I are suppose to fit in, since the seats up front are taken and there's no room in the back. Dwight seems to wonder that too, as he walks over to one of the driver's rolled down windows.

"Hey, man, I told you to save space for her!" Dwight cocks his back to me. The guy has a cigarette in his arm that leans out the window. He takes a drag before answering Dwight.

"Sorry. Forgot." He says blandly. "Just take her with you."

Dwight stalks away from the car and waves for me to follow. We get closer to the gate; the motorcycle he took yesterday is resting on its kickstand. He lifts the cross bow over to me.

"Here, put the strap over you." I take it and sling it over me. It's way bulkier than I imagined. Dwight mounts the bike and looks over to me to get on. I nervously approach and attempt to climb on without touching him. Once I'm on, I realize that's not possible since my legs are not just straddling the bike, but also puzzled pieced to his body. Dwight starts the bike and the feel of the startling engine the rumbles below me makes me put a hand on his ribs. The guards open the gate. The snapping roamers tied along the path reach for us as we pass and I flinchingly place my other hand on Dwight's other side.

* * *

Turns out the place where we get our water is just a decent sized river that's 35 miles north from the Sanctuary. It's beautiful here and the babbling of the brook makes Life seem care-free. According to Dwight, we can knock this out in an hour and a half if we work fast. The blue plastic drums and other containers are taken down to the river to be filled. We get into the river, which is only shin deep. Some of the guys start by dipping them into the river and then filling them the rest of the way with buckets. Daryl and I just use buckets to shovel water into our drums we have up near the brook. The channel appears narrower where we are because the larger mounds of earth slightly above the river.

There's a nice breeze that wisps through the air. Well, it would be nice, if it weren't for Daryl's reeking stench that latches on to the wind. As always, the Saviors aren't good about just ignoring it. An idea sparks in my brain as I notice that from where Daryl stands, he's blocked from view a bit by a boulder. I fiddle around with the idea, wondering whether or not it would remedy or worsen the situation. With one quick, forceful shove to his back, Daryl lands in the water on his hands and knees. He starts to stir back up, but I put a hand out to warrant him to stop.

"What's going on over there?" Dwight yells out, presumably hearing the splash.

"Nothing," I lie, "Daryl just slipped." Daryl turns over to sit in the river, looking up at me with a hint of agitation. "Take your time getting up." I whisper, implying that he should try to wash up. His eyes are stale as they observe me. I decide to continue to pale water into the containers. Daryl pushes himself onto his knees to stand back up. Before he does though, he scrubs his hands together through the water and then cups them to bring a pool up to his face and neck. I glance to my right and see Dwight heading down our way. "Up."

Daryl's up before Dwight sees him. "Is it ready to be taken up?" He nods to our second drum.

"Yeah, just about." I answer, looking to Daryl. Dwight has a cigarette in his hand and he smokes while watching Daryl and I finish up. When we're done, he steps on the cigarette and orders Daryl to grab one side of the container. I grab the other side and it feels like it weighs a ton. Dwight lifts between us, because it's clear that I don't have the strength to keep my end up and risk dropping It on Daryl's bare feet. Once we load our drum onto the back of a truck, I turn to view some others still filling up.

"Go help 'em." Dwight directs. We both start to move. "Not you." He puts an arm up to prevent me from going. "They're almost done, Daryl can handle it."

I stand oddly by the truck with him for a while. He doesn't have to be down there in the water, since he's the highest-ranking man here. The rest are just grunts, Daryl, and I whom Dwight has to delegate. The fight between Hal and I isn't lost on me, the work by the river distracted me from thinking about it and now that I'm standing here; it comes back. I walk aimlessly down to the river and along the bed. There's a fallen tree trunk by where Daryl and I were and I take a seat on it. Clearing my mind is harder than I thought. The woman, the argument, hitting Hal all fume around in my head. Every time I trying to move on, the only thoughts that come up are of the dream I had last night and of riding on the back of the bike on the way here.

It should have been weird for me to have both hands around Dwight's chest, but it wasn't _. It was necessary,_ I rationalize. Holding on to him kept me from falling off. The smell of pine and cigarette smoke filled my nose as the wind blew in my face. The sun made his straggly blonde hair illuminated. My thoughts are broken by a faint, rustling sound. I listen intently to make sense of it, but hear nothing more.

"You alright?" I whip my head around to see Dwight standing a few feet away. I nod my head and turn to the river. "Lover's quarrel?"

"What?"

"Back home," He says as if that should clarify what he meant," I came to get you when you weren't by the gates. You slapped your boyfriend?"

I chuckle flatly. "Hal's not my boyfriend. He's my friend," _Not anymore after what you did_ , "my neighbor."

"You gonna be alright when we get back?" He asks while causally placing his cross bow against the trunk and strolling over to the river. "We aren't gonna have to more put anymore dead guys on the wall, right?"

"I could never." I snap lowly. "Hal would never."

"Alright." He replies calmly. He stands almost directly in front of me, two feet away. The sound returns a little louder this time. Dwight's brows knit; he hears the noise, too. I stand up and approach him. Without turning his body, he looks behind and like it materialized out of nowhere, a straggler emerges. It topples straight off the short ledge of dirt and looks like it might fall on us. I leap forward and Dwight and I go down into the river. Dwight's head springs up from the water and he flips over, so that I'm now under him. In the split second that my head's under water, I hear a muffled gun shot.

When I reemerge, I gasp for air and turn my head in the direction of the straggler. It's still and sprawled out on the riverbed on the other side. Dwight holsters the gun in his hand and looks down at me.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I pant.

"D?" A voice questions behind us. We both glance over at the group of men, Daryl included, that are gathered around the plateaus.

"We're fine," He answers, trying to catch his breath, "biter came out of nowhere."

"It wasn't in the water was it?" The man seems more worried about the possibility of the river being contaminated than about us. Typical Savior.

"What you think?" Dwight gruffs while pushing himself off of me and back on his knees. "Look where it's at. Does it look wet to you?"

"Hey, it's an important question, asshole!" The guy growls. "Excuse me for interrupting your hanky-panky and not wanting go home to break it to Negan that our water supply is poisoned!"

"Are you done?" Dwight snaps back.

"Yeah, we just finished. Everything's loaded."

"Then get in the fucking trucks." He stands up and everyone shuffles off. The guy mutters 'limp dick' as he shuffles off with the rest of them. Dwight slicks his wet hair back and then offers me his hand. I take it and he hauls up. As he does, a light-hearted giggle forces itself out of me, unexpectedly. Don't ask me why I thought it, whatever 'it' was, was funny about the whole indecent, but my breathing juts shallowly as a smile breezes across my face. Dwight looks at me, confounded.

"Sorry," I chuckle and clear my raspy throat, "'thank you."

"Same."

* * *

The ride back to Sanctuary is chillier than the ride over to the river, since we're both wet from falling in. I press myself a little firmer to Dwight and even lay my head on his back. He doesn't shrug or move to communicate that I shouldn't. It's all for the sake of trying to cling to whatever warmth may be provided.

Once we arrive to the factory, the trucks drive around to the water tank while Dwight drives to the east yard to park the bike. When that's done, we both walk over to the water tanks and help unload the containers. Horror strikes my heart, as I see Hal and a few other point-workers working with Marcus. Some of them are pouring the drums of water into the tanks, while Hal and others are assisting in the handy work in attempt to fix the water problem. Hal and I's eyes meet very briefly before he goes back to talking to Marcus about the pipes. Dwight radios Negan to let him know we returned. It takes him a few minutes to respond and when he does, he makes some jerk comment about being busy fucking his wives. Dwight's face flinches ever so slightly at his response, probably assuming that that means his wife might be involved.

We both take Daryl back to the cells. On the way there, I suggest that I go get some bread to feed him. Dwight gives me the go ahead and leave them to get the bread. Needless to say, I get daggers for being back there. I was going to get another protein bar for Daryl, but after the ordeal earlier today, I avoid going to my quarter.

Dwight walks down the hall to unlock the closet door for me. He stands in the doorway that's half closed. I open the above cabinet and reach for a can of dog food. The cans are pushed back a bit and I crane my arm to reach them. Another hand extends past mine and grabs the can. Goosebumps sweep across my skin as I feel him brush against me. I slowly turn to face him and his face looks down from the cabinet at me. He places the can on the counter behind me and goes to politely step back. My hand touches his arm and he stops moving.

Our eyes meet, both surveying each other. Three seconds end, before I lunge forward to kiss him. He grabs my wrists to stop me and his eyes dart across my face. I'm about to breathily apologize, when he leans forward and crashes his mouth to mine. His arms wrap around my lower back and shoulders as he brings me closer to him. I snake a hand to the back of his head and place my other hand on his left ribs. We don't pull away from each other for what feels like hours, but is, in all likelihood, a minute or two. Dwight looks to the ground as if he's unsure of what came over him. I walk over to the closet door and pull it close. Dwight eyes me, as if to think about what to say or do next. I stride back to him and start to undo his belt. "Nan." He coarsely murmurs.

I look at his face to see if there are any signs he wants me to stop. I quickly unbutton his jeans and slide them down, while keeping eye contact. He's already half-hard when I find him through his boxers. His breathing hitches as I touch it. Once he's at full mass, I slowly lower to my knees and pull him completely through the slit in his boxers. I take his length in my mouth and swirl my tongue around it. His hips buck slightly. I begin to bob my head liberally. Dwight's breathing becomes more labored as he tries to stifle a groan. His fingers rake through my hair and I moan. I can tell it's been awhile for him, because he only lasts about three minutes. He pushes my head back and I get up as he's trying to catch his breath.

Dwight wipes his hand over his face and then fixes himself. I swoop some hair behind my ears. "Shit," he breathes as he redoes his belt. I'm not sure what to do now, so I move over to the counter behind me and continue to make Daryl's sandwich.

"I'll take it," Dwight says behind me, "You should stay here." He walks over and takes the plate from the counter. "I'll, uh...get you a clean shirt."

I wait for twenty minutes or so, when Dwight finally comes back. He knocks on the door before entering. I already have my shirt off and am standing in my bra and pants. He hands me a dusty green short-sleeved shirt while gazing off to the side. As I put it over my head, I'm engulfed by the same scent from earlier. Dwight looks at me once the shirts on. He rubs the back of his neck.

"Um, you can call it a night." He clears his throat awkwardly. I nod and exit with my shirt folded the wrong way to hide the mess.

I didn't realize how late it was, until I leave the closet. The factory is darker and the overhanging lamps are on. My thoughts keep telling me I should be ashamed for what happened back there. I did exactly what that lady and all the others think I've been doing this whole week. _Far be it from you to not be that girl._ Shut up _._ I don't feel guilty for doing that. I don't know why I don't, but I just don't. The only thing that bothers me is that concerning sound that I heard in Dwight's voice. Does he regret it?

The lack of noise tells me that everyone's asleep or settling down for the night. As I get through the curtain, I seize in place at the scene. My sheet and fire blanket are gone. Hal's blanket is draped over my mattress, which makes me look over to him. He's sleeping without any covers and his body is turned to me. I glance through the dark to see if I can make out any eyes that may be watching for my reaction. None. I sigh at the petty theft and pull the blanket off to go put it on Hal whose arms are crossed against his chest. That's when I see it. _Motherfuckers._ My mattress is slashed and some of the rips spell out 'whore.' I set the blanket down and slide my hands under the mattress to flip it over. _Are you fucking serious?_ Whoever did this, really put in some effort to make sure I won't be sleeping on this again and that the message got across. The other side is cut up, too and 'ha-ha, slut' is carved into it. I scoff bitterly and slide my tongue in my cheek.

I tip-toe over to Hal's mattress and kneel down to wake him. I put a hand gently on his shoulder and shake him a little. "Hal?" I hoarsely whisper. "Hal!'

"What?" He answers with his eyes closed. Good, he's talking to me.

"Hal, who did that?" His eyes open at my question and he shakes his head.

"Don't know. I asked around, but..." He trails off, but I know what he was going to say. No one whom might have known was going to help him help me.

"Here's your blanket."

"No, you take it."

"I don't have a bed anymore. Some of the springs are poking through."

"I'm sorry, Gorgeous." He whispers.

I sprawl the blanket over him and then move to the other side and crawl onto it his mattress behind him. I pull myself close to him and droop an arm over him while tugging some blankets over me. "It's okay."

"No, its not. I tried to track down your shit, but..."

"It's okay, Hal." I say as I close my eyes.

"They threw it in the fire at the baker's station." My eyes open a little at that.

"I'm sorry for hitting you Hal. _That_ wasn't okay."

"I love you, Anna. We're best mates. Best mates brawl sometimes." I snicker through my nose.

"Yeah." I sleepily agree.

"You're okay?"

I shut my eyes on the images of the river, the closet, and the smell of this shirt. "Yeah."

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoyed! I've already started the next chapter, which I plan on getting out by Sunday at the latest. Thank you, MaterialGirl7 for your kind review!**


	10. Big 'Ol Mess

**CW: Minor gore/violence**

* * *

Hal's elbow bumps into my arm as he gently crawls off of his mattress. My eyes flutter to adjust to morning light as I watch Hal stir around his crates. I yawn which makes him look over at me.

"Didn't mean to wake you." He says.

"I should be awake anyway." I stretch. I groan lightly at how stiff and sore my upper body feels. Negan was right; I was going to be sore after yesterday. And wet. I put an elbow under my head. "Oatmeal, again?"

"Taste better cold than powdered eggs do. Reed said we have to conserve water, so they're not boiling water for points."

"How long's it gonna take to fix the problem?"

"Marcus said it wasn't as bad he thought, so...maybe a day. Here." Hal hands me a bowl of oatmeal.

I shake my head. "Not hungry."

"Suit yourself." He sits back down on his bed and eats from a different bowl. "Where'd you get that?" He eyes the shirt I'm wearing as he tips a little cinnamon from a small, plastic spice shaker into his bowl.

"Oh, um...I fell in the river yesterday and Dwight had this under his flannel, so he gave it to me." I stare casually at Hal deliberately to shirk off suspicion.

He looks at his bowl and nods. "Klutz."

"What were you gonna ask me yesterday before I hit you?" I ask out of nowhere.

Hal's face grows sober and I prepare for him to play-stupid. He glances out to the other quarters. "I was gonna ask..." He thinks for a moment, "if Dwight or Negan, um..."

"Spit it out, Hal." His face winces and I suddenly am up to speed. "Oh." I snicker.

"It's not funny."

"You want to know if either of them wanted me to put out in order to 'work my way up the ladder'?" I walk two fingers up his arm teasingly and he shrugs them off.

"Excuse me for being concerned." He says embarrassed.

"Thanks for your concern, but I assure you that nothing like that is happening." My faint grin stays in place, but my mind wanders to what happened last night in the closet. _Well, that wasn't for a job promotion_. I stretch some more and finally stand up. "I better go." I roll my neck.

"What about that?" He tilts his head to my murdered mattress.

"I'll deal with it later." I say as I open my trunk, refusing to look around at all the eyes I feel burning into me. Truthfully, I'm not going to do anything, really. I guess I could, but I won't. Why give these people the satisfaction of knowing that this little trick got to me. I spot my folded shirt by the side, scoop it up, and bashfully throw it inside. The only other shirt I have is what I change into. "See ya later."

I fold Dwight's shirt as I wander to the cells. On the way there, I find Reed leaning against yellow railing, drinking something from a mug.

"Reed?" I sheepishly approach him.

"34?" He mimics me. He knows my name and almost everyone else's. He's the only Savior I think who does, but Reed still calls us by our numbers sometimes to remind us of our place. He's not our friend just because he deals with us more than other Saviors do, or because he's somewhat more approachable.

"I was just wondering if any of the mattresses from the pick up the other day made it back here. Maybe there's one available in the commissary?"

"No. No mattresses got brought in. Why?"

"I was just wondering." I answer as I shuffle off.

* * *

Dwight's heading down the hall from the opposite end, when I turn the corner. My chest tightens anxiously as the distance between us grows shorter. What do I say? Do I say anything? Should I wait for him to speak first? Ugh, it feels like I'm in college all over again. He makes it to the cell door a few steps before me. He unlocks the door and tells Daryl to get up. Dwight has yet to acknowledge me and it feels like my breathing has suspended, waiting for a look or a word.

We take Daryl to the fences. That seems to be Negan's favorite task for him, although it hasn't made him break, if that's what Negan's waiting for. It's a dangerous job, but Daryl can manage like the rest of them. When he's in, Dwight turns sharply back towards the factory. I lag behind him with his shirt in hand. After climbing the steps, I realize the door is still open and as I go inside, Dwight closes the door. He then continues walking.

"Um, Dwight." I mutter. He stops but doesn't turn around. I hold the shirt up with my hands under it like I'm offering him a precious artifact. "Here's your shirt back." Dwight shifts and upon seeing it, moves forward and snatches it from me. My hands shrink back at his forceful grab. _Is he pissed?_

"Thanks." He rasps while whipping around and stalking off. My eyes drift to the people down below. Some are glancing up at me as they work. _Well, that's just great_. I start after Dwight, but once he notices I'm following him, he calls over his shoulder, "You can go back to your quarter, I'll come get you later." _Yeah, he's pissed._

The next two days are spent in near silence. The tension is pretty uncomfortable, but I understand, in a way. I recall what I overheard Negan telling that guy the other day about Dwight turning down opportunities to sleep with women. And he did make up an excuse to Laura as to why he couldn't hang out her. She's seems like a real go-getter, he's probably aware of her interest in him. Maybe the divorce, so to speak, of his wife is hard to handle. Particularly, because of the circumstances and that Negan obviously has no problems gloating to Dwight about it. So, I suppose, knowing what I know, I shouldn't have initiated what happened in the closet. When we broke from each other, maybe I should have walked out of the door instead of closing it with us inside. But all he had to do was tell me to stop and I would have. If he's not interested in sex, or a heat of the moment blowjob, then why he didn't stop me?

I sleep next to Hal each night and offer to get dinner to make it up to him. I go into my trunk with the guise of making sure no one stole anything, but really I'm just going sneak Daryl the last of my good protein bars. After I do just that, I get in line for the commissary. I buy a light pink t-shirt, since I only have the one I'm wearing until washday. I buy two sleeves of stale crackers, a jar of peanut butter, and an even smaller jar of preserves. It's actually the best meal I've had in a while. Except that sandwich half Dwight gave me.

"Don't laugh, you dick!" Hal chuckles as he holds his side, "That really hurt!"

I put my hands over my face to cover my smile. "It was an accident." I muffle through fingers. I accidentally brought my elbow down on his ribs when I woke up in my usual fashion of bolting from my dreams. He's sitting up; milking his "injury" and I can't help snickering. I pat his back, "Shake it off, handsome."

"Fuck off." He laughs. "You got crumbs all over my bed!"

"It wasn't just me." We both chuckle.

The curtain pulls back and who else but Dwight walks in. His eyes are fixed on the two of us on Hal's mattress. His expression is unreadable, but not necessarily blank. I get up and dust off some crumbs on my shirt. Hal moves as well to make himself breakfast. Dwight finally looks down at my mattress and his face twists. I mosey around Hal's quarter and work my way to the entrance where Dwight stands. His eyes are still focused on the mattress. I clear my throat to get his attention. It works and he looks me over.

"C'mon." He says tersely.

Daryl's taken out front to help prepare Simon and a select group of Saviors for an outing. From the looks of it, it would appear that they are going far and might be gone for a while. Simon gives me the hibbies and the jibbies. He's just a weird man who has this eerie energy to him. The very day I met him, I was chilled by his odd friendliness that I learned could turn sour easily.

I let Simon bring me here when him and a team of six Saviors saved me. They were driving down the road when they came upon a swarm of roamers pawing relentlessly at a car. I was alone by this point. I had been with a small group of twelve for a while, but I exiled myself two months back and had been roaming around alone ever since. I usually just stuck by the road without actually traveling on it and had managed to wander down into Virginia. I had fallen asleep in the abandoned car the night before and got spotted by the dead when I panicked awake from a dream. I could barely make out the people who jumped out of the old mustang and ford bronco that had been lifted, because of the murky windows that were made worse by the blood spatter. The people dispatched the biters fairly quickly and to my astonishment. When the biters stopped biting, a door was abruptly opened and a mustachioed man lowered his head to look in the back of the car where I was sitting on my knees on the seat. He looked at me and I stared back at him, waiting for him to say something. "Well, good morning, " his smiled buoyantly, "Need some help there, friend?"

Had I known what I know now, I would have closed the door and locked it along with all the others. But I know that wouldn't have done shit for me and that I was going to go with them whether I agreed to or not. I meekly nod my head and the man reached in to take my hand. I put a trembling palm in his calloused one and he yanked me out of the car. He explained to me that he could take me to a safe haven, far from the terrors of the world. Made the Sanctuary seem like a wholesome community that only asks that everyone chips in to keep the place running. I almost turned him down, but my gut told me not to. People in this world are unpredictable and I was too weak to try and run. He put his hand out and introduced himself as Simon. I, once again, took his hand and told him my name. He could've broken my arm with how zealous his handshake was. I rode with him back to this grand sanctuary. The small talk was dominated by him, which he didn't seem to mind. I just kept quiet and grew more and more anxious about my decision. Turns out, Simon wasn't necessarily lying about The Sanctuary being a haven from the terrors of the world and about it being a community where everyone has to pull their weight. He just left out the fine print about being owned by an even more charismatic madman, being oppressed by a volatile class system, and not ever being allowed to leave.

"You should be alright," He said as he welcome wagoned me around for a bit with his arm around me, "Pretty dames tend get taken care of around here." He grinned as he winked at me. A few hours later, I witnessed a brutal punishment, started by Simon and ended by Negan, that quelled any notion I had of leaving as well as gave me a good understanding of the pit I had fallen into.

"Well," Simon's voice brings me back to the present, "long time, no see!" His mustached face grins at me. _That's because I avoid you._ Dwight is over by the trucks, talking to someone. My eyes are begging for him to look this way and rescue me by motioning me over. "Earth to Angel face." I roll my eyes back to him. "From what I hear, you're really takin' back the night, as they say."

"Simon!" A random Savior calls out.

"Yeah?!" Simon answers back.

"We're all good to go!"

"See ya later, friend." Simon smiles as he takes a radio from his belt and walks away. I hear him tell Negan that they're heading out and there is a response, but it's inaudible between the static and growing distance. _Don't forget to not write, creep.._

Dwight leads Daryl back to the entrance to mop the second floor again, since it had more flooding last night. Turns out the problem wasn't as simple as Marcus had originally thought. Inside, Dwight tells me I don't need to be there and that he'll come find me later. His tone attempts to be plain, but there's some sting there.

Hal's there when I get to the quarters. "What are doing?" I ask.

"Marcus said he needed a break after slipping in some water and landing hard on the bathroom floor," He smirks," so the few of us he picked to help him with the pipes also get a break. You?"

"Dwight has Daryl, the guy in the 'A' suit, mopping the floors and told me I didn't need to hang around," I raise a mischievous brow, "one of the perks of letting a Savior with some pull nail me." I snort in dry humor.

"Not funny!" Hal fights back a smile.

I go to sit on my dead mattress to get into my trunk and immediately regret it. "Ouch!" A spring scrapes the side of my left thigh, poking through the fabric of my pants.

"Look, mate. You got to get rid that. It's depressing...and dangerous."

I sigh. "Yeah, you're right. Help me take it outside."

We hoist the mattress up on different ends and work our way out of the quarters. I plan on taking it to the east side where there are dumpsters. Everything that winds up there is later burned in a control fire, or taken to the incinerator. Our dead are burned either way, according to how well the incinerator is working on a particular day. We make it to the cement steps.

"I'll go down backwards, pivot it a ways." I instruct and we slowly guide the mattress down. I take cautious steps down the stairs.

"Careful," Hal warns. Just as he says that, his foot misses a step and he slips, dropping the mattress. It knocks into my shins and I fall forward, sliding down on top of it the rest of the way.

I feel the scraping metal of a spring etch across my skin. "Shit! Fuck, Hal!" I push myself off the mattress. Hal struggles to hold in a laugh. "Jackass!" I chuckle.

"Ha-ha, slut!" He laughs. I glance down at the mattress with my hands on my hips. _Ha-ha, slut, indeed._ My shoulders rise up and down as I cackle. "Oh, shit! Nan, you're bleeding!"

I move my hand over to the pain coming from the bottom of my right ribs. Some blood paints my fingers, so I lift my shirt up and discover that the cut is deep. "You need to go to the infirmary. That might need stitches." Hal winces. "C'mon, I'll walk you."

* * *

The two of us go down the halls and as we approach the second floor, I get the feeling to turn back. "You know, it's not that bad," I say unconvincingly as I hold my hand to it. It isn't life-threateningly, it just hasn't stopped yet.

"No, you need to go see Carson," Hal sounds like a mother hen, "Even if its not that bad, you still need to get it clean. You could get tetanus." I roll my eyes and keep walking.

As we round to the second floor, I see Dwight leaning against the wall opposite to the bathrooms. He stands up straight when he notices the blood on my hand and shirt. Marcus and some point-workers are in the bathroom working on the pipes. Dwight turns towards us. "What happened?"

"She fell on a spring from that cut up mattress we were tryin' to get to the dumps." Hal answers.

"Hal?" Marcus' voice echoes in the bathroom. He pokes his head out. "Good, you're back. We figured things out, so get in here."

"I've got to take her to Carson." Hal replies.

Marcus looks at my bloody fingers. "She ain't dyin'," he diagnoses, "Let her walk herself. You need to earn you bread, kid."

"It's okay, Hal." I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I'll take her." I gaze over at Dwight, bewildered, and then nod for Hal to go ahead and get back to work before his points get suspended for disobeying Marcus.

Our walk to the infirmary is excruciating and can't end soon enough. Carson is moving some things around in the infirmary when we enter. He quickly notices my bloody shirt. "My goodness, what happened here?" He inquires.

"I fell on a mattress that had springs sticking out and I got cut." I briefly inform.

"Well, you will definitely need some antibiotics, in hopes of keeping the wound clear of any bacteria if it was metal that cut you." He approaches me, "Can I have you lift your shirt, please." I nod and hold my shirt up so he can see the gash. Carson places his fingers delicately around the wound like I'm made of glass. He tilts his head here and there, while examining the wound. "Mmhm, one inch across. You'll need a few stitches, my dear."

"Okay." I mouth and go over to the examine table to have a seat. Dwight has stuck around, for some reason. I would've thought he would leave as soon as we reached the infirmary, since he's been treating me like a nuisance again for the last couple of days.

"Do you have a another shirt you can change into?" Carson asks while rummaging through the cabinets. "I don't suppose the stains will come out."

"Not unless we have lemon juice and club soda," I murmur stiffly. Carson smiles, not taking my acrid comment rudely. " I can go get my other...clean one."

"I don't recommend you go with the blood loss." Carson asserts. "But I guess if you-"

"Just stitch her up and I'll go get the shirt." Dwight interrupts, annoyed. "Where would it be?" His eyes move to me.

"In my trunk." Dwight leaves promptly, closing the door behind him.

Carson starts to put the needle and stitching down, along with gauze and a thing of rubbing alcohol. "Any other injuries?"

"I got poked really hard on the side of the leg, but I don't think it's deep."

"What about the rips on your pants?" I furrow my eyebrow in confusion. I look down and, lo, there are some tears down the front of my pants with a little blood on them. How did I miss those? "If you don't mind, I'd like to clean those, too."

"Sure." I grin subtly.

"It will require you to remove your pants," He explicates, "If your uncomfortable with that I-"

"It's okay, I don't mind." I tell him.

He pats down his coat and sighs in frustration. "I left my glasses in my room. I can't patch you up with out them." He heads to the door. "You can undress in the bathroom, there, and wait for me to come back."

I hop off the table and remove my shoes, pants, and shirt. I stand in the infirmary in just my underwear, bra, and folded socks. While waiting for the doctor to come back, I inspect my tattered clothes. Jesus, I'm not going be able to get these stains out. I hold the ruined shirt to my wound and I sit back up on the table. I inspect my cuts and scrapes on my legs and knees. The door finally opens, but it's Dwight who enters instead of Carson. He's taken aback by my being half naked. His eyes wander the room, presumably, looking for Carson.

"Carson went to get his glasses." I rasp. Dwight makes eye contact with me and forces himself to keep his eyes forward.

"Here," he holds out my seashell pink shirt, "this was the only shirt you had that was clean." My cheeks redden at the thought of Dwight looking through my trunk. First of all, trusting a Savior to poke around my trunk is a huge deal for me. Dwight has no qualms about taking things from point-earners, so its not like I'd be paranoid. But, that's not what makes me feel worried. It's the fact that he saw the shirt I was wearing the other night, folded inwardly to conceal his dried semen.

"Thanks." I take the shirt and set it to the side near all the medical equipment.

"I also brought these," He removes my black leggings from under his arm, "I, uh, figured you might want them since your pants are torn."

"Thanks." I repeat, accepting the leggings. Neither of us says anything for a while. What's taking Carson long? I, of all people, decide to break the silence. I count to five in my head. _One-_ _two- three- four- five go!_ The words stick in my throat. Damn it. _One- two- three- four- five go!_

"Hey, um, Dwight?" _Atta, girl._ Dwight, whose head is turned to the cabinet, looks over at me. "I, uh...I'm sor-" before I can say more, Carson walks back in. He eyes the two of us, but doesn't question. Dwight leans against the wall with his arms crossed, looking down to the floor.

"Alright, if you could just lie back on table, I'll begin as soon as I wash my hands." Carson washes his hands with soap and a bowl of water like they do in the period movies. I lean back and put my left hand behind my head. Dwight can leave at anytime, but he oddly doesn't. Carson offers to apply a numbing gel around the gash, but I turn it down to spare my points. I breathe deeply as the rubbing alcohol stings and Carson pats the area with some gauze. I close my eyes to shake the focus off the feel of the needle and stitches weaving through my flesh. "Interesting tattoo you have." Carson remarks suddenly. I open my eyes and look up at the piece under my upper arm. People usually don't notice it because of my shirtsleeves. It's of a Georgia O'Keefe painting.

"I got it when I was twenty." I say.

"How about the other ones?" Carson's questions make me feel like I'm a kid he's trying to distract while giving a booster shot.

"The others I got along the way. Here and there." I answer about the three other tattoos on my now visible body. Carson nods.

"Alright, you're all done," He smiles. I glance down at the gauze that covers my stitched up cut. The air raises goose bumps as it licks the cool spots on my skin where Carson put rubbing alcohol.

"Thank you." I grin as I push myself off the table and shake his hand.

"Here's some antibiotics, you need to come back for another dose at least once a day for the next two. To be on the safe side." Carson hands me a pill and some water from a pitcher. I nod at him while thinking about how many points this will all rack up to. He writes on a note card and gives it to me. _Yikes._ As I dress, I notice that Carson is carrying on with his work, instead of trying to peep at me like some Saviors I know would. I appreciate it and it reminds me that Carson is considered a Savior only because he's our only doctor and Negan allows him the same privileges to make sure he's healthy enough to keep being our doctor. That he is professional and didn't have to earn it that same way the others did. And doesn't let the power go to his head. He isn't a cretin like Davy. "You should eat something, just to cope with the blood loss. And antibiotics can be tough on an empty stomach."

Dwight and I leave Carson and I plan on just going back my quarter. We turn a corner and Dwight stops at the door he entered a few nights ago, that I assume is where he lives. I continue walking.

"Wait." He calls. I look back at him and he enters the room. Like the weird S.O.B that I am, I just linger in the hall where I stopped. I clasp my hands together with uncertainty and listen to the clinking sounds coming from inside the open room. He finally emerges from the room with a sandwich on a plate. He extends it over to me and I look at him curiously. "Doc said you needed to eat."

"I have stuff in my trunk."

He scoffs, probably a little offended. I am looking at him like he might have poisoned the sandwich. "Peanut butter and jelly...and half a sleeve of saltines?" Hal and I polished off most of the crackers last night. I reluctantly take the plate and walk off.

I go to the yellow railing that Reed was leaning against the other day and sit down, resting my back on it. Dwight has followed and leans on the railing. I balance the plate on my knee and begin eating one half. _Goddamn,_ _that's good._ It's just lettuce, tomato, and a little mayonnaise but man, oh man is it good. Where'd he get non-expired mayo? Is that a hint of pepper? I don't know what Dwight is doing here; I'll return his plate. He barely says anything to me for two or three days, except to tell me to go back to my quarter until I'm needed, and now he's taking me to Carson and making me a sandwich. _Say something_. Okay _. One- two- three- four- five_ _go!_

"I thought you said that guy wasn't your boyfriend." Dwight breaks the silence. Ah-ha! He had an agenda in all this.

"He isn't." I claim.

"Didn't look that way this morning." His tone sounds blandly accusative.

"You saw my mattress," I retort, "And we burned all the mattresses from Alexandria." _You. You burned all the mattresses from Alexandria._ "Hal and I are friends. He shared his mattress with me...and his blankets since mine were stolen and burned." _Poetic justice?_

Dwight's quiet for a minute. I can't help but feel sort of affronted by his inquiry about Hal. "Who did that?"

"Don't know, don't care." I sharply answer. I really don't care.

"Whoever did it, used a knife, which is a weapon. Which is prohibited, which means it was stolen." He elaborates.

"Go look for it then." I mutter while taking another bite. He scoffs. He does that a lot.

"It doesn't bother you that someone stole a knife and your bedding before shredding the shit out of your bed? That would worry me."

I shrug my shoulders. Nobody's going to stab me in my sleep. _They don't have the guts...maybe._ " Why do you care?"

"I don't." Dwight sneers.

"Then why ask?" _Cool it, Nan._ I hear him sigh through his nose, irritated. I stand up and basically shove the plate back to him. "Thanks for the sandwich." I turn to head towards the stairs. I'm usually not a bold motherfucker, but something comes over me. "I sucked your dick, I didn't leave a spare toothbrush at your place. So, you don't get to give the third degree about me innocently sharing a mattress with my friend." With that said, I continue to causally walk to the stairs. I'm both proud and nauseous.

* * *

I go back outside to the mattress and because it's still early enough for my day to worsen, Negan is there. He's got his hands on his hips, looking down at the mattress. I walk down the steps. "I was taking it to the dumps." I sound apologetic. He's probably pissed that someone just left a mattress lying here. He looks at me with a dark expression.

"This is yours?"

I nod my head yes. "I fell while trying to get it down and cut myself. I just came from the infirmary." Negan's eyes look like stones as he stares at me. He finally huffs.

"Well, let's get it to the dumps." He goes to one end and picks it up. "Don't just fuckin' stand there, get the other end!" I obediently grab the end. Negan walks backwards to the east side of the factory. The dumpsters are to the right of the east yard. "Who did this?" Negan asks.

"I don't know. I wasn't there when it happened." It doesn't take us long to get there and Negan does most of the hoisting it takes to get it in the dumps.

"Well, time to go fucking find out, right?" Negan's smirk returns to it natural habitat.

"I'm not bothered by it. Really." I say hoarsely.

"You might not be, but I fuckin' am!" Negan booms. "Not only has one _my_ mattresses been destroyed, but with a knife that I'm gonna say was fucking stolen. So that is _big_ deal to me, I can't have some prick running around stealin' knives and slashing up my shit!"

I swallow nervously. I don't want anyone to get hurt for this. I mean, it was a shitty thing to do, but not worth losing a hand over. This means that Negan will organize a raid through the quarters to find the stolen knife. It'll be a nightmare.

"Th-they probably returned it." I say breathlessly as I try to keep up with him. He ignores my words and walks back into the factory. _Shit, shit, shit!_ He puts his hands on the railing and the people below kneel.

"Reed!" He shouts. Reed stands and looks up at him. "It would appear that someone in the quarters has taken something sharp and carved some mean words into 34's mattress. Leave no stone unturned until you find that shit and the person responsible. Unless...someone wants to come forward, now." Nothing. Negan nods at Reed and Reed and some other Saviors start heading to the quarters. "Oh, and Reed?" Reed stops. "No need to search 34, she obviously didn't do that to her own bed." He then walks off while telling the people still kneeling to get back to work. The workers all look scared. Even if they're not the guilty party, they still don't want the Saviors trashing their living spaces. Or witness the punishment that will result once the prohibited item is found. I don't follow Negan or give him the chance to make me. I head to the second floor.

Once I get there and I don't find Dwight or Daryl, I head to the cells. Daryl's not in his cell yet when I finally find them. I'm out of breath by time I reach the two from running through the halls. Dwight looks at me with a raised brow as he turns the key in the lock.

"They're...They're raiding the quarters." I try to steady my breathing. "Negan found the mattress and wants to find the stolen knife."

"So?" Dwight opens the door and Daryl glances at me as he enters the cell.

"Please!" I plead. " I don't want anyone to get in trouble because of me." Daryl's standing by in his cell, watching my reaction. Dwight looks over at him and them pulls him out by the shirt.

"Better get you back that mop." Dwight tells him. "You'll need to clean up the mess." I chest and burns with fury and anguish.

"You-"

"I," Dwight stops, his scarred side is turned to me, "Can't do anything. And if I could, I still wouldn't. Rules are rules. Whomever did it is gonna get what's comin' to 'em."

* * *

I wallow behind them, sickened. Tears well up in my eyes when we get to the sight. Everything is chaotic. The only noises to be heard are of the Saviors dumping things out of crates or containers. Things breaking and clanking against the smooth, hard cement floor, while papers sweep against it. Some of the numbers from the lines have fallen down. The people in the quarters stand and watch, as that's all they can do as they're spaces are pillaged. A guy suddenly calls out that he found it. A knife is found in quarter 78. The resident is a baker that I hardly know. I've never done or said anything to him before, so I can't reason why he would do this out of nowhere. As the man grabs the baker by the arm, a woman shrieks out for him to wait. It's the woman who I argued with the other day. She cries out that the baker is her boyfriend and she put him up to it. That makes more sense, though I can't believe she had him do something like this for a few, snappy words. If anything, she walked away the champion of that spat, since she did ruffle my feathers. The Savior takes both of them. Negan is radioed about finding the knife and the two thieves. Everyone is told to gather for the "show." Ten minutes later, Negan strolls to the stairs and we all kneel. Dwight pulls Daryl down with him. Negan descends half way.

"You all know the rules." He says calmly. "Folks who work for points are welcome to majority of what we Saviors go out and scavenge. So long as you work hard and earn it." Scavenge? Extortion and scavenging are two different things in my opinion. "But, there are some things that are prohibited in the quarters and off limits." He points to me in the crowd. My cheeks redden as some heads turn in my direction. _Stop making things worse_. "This good lady, here, has no where to rest her pretty little head, because those two people violated the rules and stole a prohibited item; a knife and proved my point. On your feet!" We all stand as he walks the rest of the way down the stairs. I spy Hal standing with Marcus and the other workers. Carson's standing in the crowd with his hands sheepishly in his coat pockets. Both culprits are brought to a table. The man's left hand is brought down flat onto it and held in place by a Savior. The man's breathing is quiet, but fast. Negan works his way to the table and is handed a butcher's knife. "Point-workers can't have these items, because they're not trustworthy enough with 'em."

The Savior removes his hand, so that Negan can hold the guy's wrist. "This is gonna make a big 'ol mess." He chuckles. Negan swiftly brings down the knife on the guy's exposed wrist, lopping off the hand. The man yells in pain and blood pours out of the severed space. My jaw nearly drops in shock. The woman whimpers and tears run down her face. The Savior who held him down ties a tourniquet around the man. The woman's hand is placed on the table next and Negan shakes his head. "You, Darlin', are _way_ luckier than that poor bastard." He points to the guy who Carson's now attending to, with the butcher's knife. "You're only losin' these two digits, here." She cries out in fear and he brings the knife down again. The woman screams in agony and holds her hand that's now missing half of her pinky and ring finger. Blood spurts out of the wounds and a Savior has to grab her to take her over to Carson. The freezing factory air stings my left cheek as a tear escapes my eye. Carson mutters something to the two Saviors and they pull the two disciplined up and drag them to the infirmary. Negan has blood splattered on his face and in his beard.

"Let this be a reminder of the consequences every fuckin' person here faces, if they steal and,or posses contraband!" He drops the knife on the table and heads for the stairs. "Follow the rules and nothing like this has happened, again. Why?"

"The rules keep us safe." Everyone answers almost simultaneously. My stomach lurches as I mindlessly mumble the well beat in phrase.

"That's right." He says back as he climbs the stairs and goes back from whence he came. Everyone clears out and returns to work silently. Even the Saviors keep their traps bolted. The crying of the woman can still be heard from the factory floor. I hurry to the stairs and scale them unevenly to get outside the factory. Once I'm out to the front entrance, I grip the yellow rails and vomit over the side. _You did this._ I vomit again. No. Negan did. I didn't want this to happen. _You should have kept the mattress inside; no one would have known._ Dwight knew. Dwight, that son of a bitch. I vomit once more. The door opens and closes behind me.

"Alright?" Hal asks.

"I'm fine." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Here." I turn and Hal gives me his water jug. I waterfall some of it and swish it around in my mouth. "That wasn't on you, love. That was on them. Don't put that guilt on yourself."

I spit the water out over the railing and take another drink. " I said I'm fine, Hal." I walk past him and go back inside. Daryl's scrubbing the blood from off the table and another guy mops the floor. Dwight looks up and sees me standing by the stairs. I scorn down at him and storm off to God knows where. If I was being shunned before, this ordeal has officially accelerated me to maximum exile. Not only did Negan make it seem like I tattled, but now I'm the girl whose quarter was the only one untouched and got two people mutilated. Before I know it, I'm down by the cells. I walk over to the cell I was put in when I killed Ronnie. I grab the knob and turn it. It's unlocked. I go inside and close it. I slowly pace the tiny room in an attempt to calm down. It's not my fault. It's not my fault. _It is._ As I put my hands on my hips, I crack. I bend over and place a hand on my mouth to stifle my crying. I put my other hand on the wall, as I slink down. My knees are pulled up to my chest and I place my head in my hands.

* * *

Time passes before I hear footsteps stop before my cell. I hear keys enter the lock of Daryl's cell. I get up and open the door and both Daryl and Dwight look at me. Dwight swings the Daryl's door open and shoves him inside before angrily shutting and locking it. He pounces immediately, grabbing the door and opening it wider. "What are you doing?" I don't answer; I numbly walk back into the cell and sit criss-cross on the floor. "Get up."

"No." I feel like a pouting toddler, but I'm not leaving here until I'm good and ready. Dwight scoffs and quickly looks down both ends of the hall, before stepping inside the cell and the shutting door behind him. The cell is nice and dark with the door closed.

"You need to quit feeling sorry for yourself and get up." He growls.

"Leave me alone."

"Those people got what they deserved."

"Fuck off." I murmur.

Dwight gets downs on one knee to be eye level with me. "You don't care about them. You're just worried that everyone else blames you." He says matter of factly. "And they will. I've seen the way they look at you."

I look at him with red-rimmed eyes and push myself to my knees. I reach my hand over to him gently, before clutching a fistful of his button down shirt. "I just want to sit here and be left alone." I bring my fist forward a bit. "I don't need a pep talk from you, okay?" His hands wraps around my wrist and tugs my hand free from his shirt. His grip isn't hurting me, but I still reach over to pry his fingers from my wrist. His other hand seizes my other wrist and he pulls it away. I struggle to break free from his firm grasp. "Let go!" Dwight releases me and I push him back so hard, I lose my balance and topple onto him.

I stare furiously down at him with a heaving breath. His gaze matches mine. _Prick._ Without another second, I bring my mouth down on his, hard. He reciprocates the kiss and puts a hand around my arm. He turns himself over with his other hand pressed on my back. He's now on top of me and we continue to heatedly kiss. I reach between our pressed bodies and push down my underwear with my leggings. I start to sightlessly fiddle with his belt, when I feel his hand brush roughly against mine to undo it. I hear the clinking of an undone belt and his pants zipper glide down. In an instant, the warmth of his legs is against mine and the hardness of his penis between them. I slide my legs up slightly and a gasp huffs out as he enters me.

Dwight stops kissing me and his head nearly settles in the crook of my neck as he begins to thrust. I close my eyes tightly and snake my hands under his arms and up towards his shoulder blades. His moans breathily and quietly and I feel myself start to unravel with each deep buck. Within a matter of seconds, my breathing inclines faster and faster, until it reaches a pinnacle and I'm over the edge. A moan escapes the back of my throat as I feel my self flutter around him, so I place the back of my hand over my mouth. My cheeks flush as he keeps thrusting and the sensation doesn't end. Shortly after, he groans and pulls out of me with a ragged breath. He hovers over me while he pants heavily. I put a hand over my chest and feel the lub-dubbing of my heart. Dwight finally gets up, still catching his breath, and starts to collect himself. He looks down at me and then shrugs off his vest and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

He hands it to me. "Here, you can use this to clean up." I take the shirt and clean his spill from my thighs and tummy. Luckily, it doesn't get on my clothes. I toss the shirt to the side when I'm done. Dwight puts his vest back on over his white t-shirt and extends his hand out to me. I pull my leggings back up and shake my head.

"I have nowhere to go." I say coolly. "I can't go back there after what just happened."

"C'mon, get up. You can't just stay in here."

"I'll be fine. Just go." Dwight shakes his head, frustrated. He grabs his shirt from the floor and exits the cell.

I close my eyes. I just want to be alone for a while.

* * *

 **Alright, two chapters in one week lol! Thank you everyone to everyone who took time to review. Your sweet and humorous thoughts, as well as, honest feedback is valuable and encouraging! It's good to hear that my fic is being enjoyed.**


	11. You Said Negan

"One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began..." Mary Oliver, _The Journey_

* * *

 _"Anna!" The voice of my grandmother calls out from the front of the shop. I'm lightly dusting powdered sugar with a sifter on the top of a cake. "Anna!" She repeats. I brush my hands on my apron and head up. I can hear two old ladies laughing._

 _"Yeah?" I answer as I emerge from the back kitchen and into the front of my grandparent's bakery. There are two customers standing in line. One's a usual customer, Yoon, who knows my grandma from the book club they're both in. She loves my grandma's lussekatter. The other is a younger man with a baseball cap and his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. I've never seen him in here before. He's looking intently at the glass counter that shelters the baked goods._

 _"Oh, good," my grandma beckons me over with her hand, "can you help this young man, please." The man and I's eyes meet as she walks past me, putting a tender hand on my arm as she does. Her and Yoon prattle on, off to the side about "the nerve" of some character from a book._

 _"Hi," I greet while tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "What can I get for you today?" His blues look at me and then back to the counter. After a few seconds, he sucked air through his teeth and lightly shakes his head._

 _"I don't know," he admits, "I've never come in here before. My mom had surgery yesterday and she's always talking about this Swedish bakery. So, I thought I'd find it and bring her something from here, but to be honest I don't really know what to get."_

 _"How nice!" My grandma chimes in, while walking over to us. "You are so good to your mother." She smiles._

 _The man smiles back. "Bit of a mama's boy." They both chuckle and I grin. My grandma always makes friends with the customers. It's one of her admirable qualities._

 _"Let us help you. We will pick the good stuff." She suggests. She goes over to get a white box and begins to fold it._

 _"Yeah, why not?" He puts an agreeable hand up. "Who knows better than the professionals, right?" He grins at my grandmother and then me. I smile weakly back at him, not use to customers being so laidback and friendly. Not to say that our customers are all rude jerks, but most just make believe that the glass counter that separates us doubles as a wall that prevents social interactions. I kind of use it like that, too._

 _"I like you," My grandma laughs, "You are a smart boy."_

 _"I have my good days." He replies, which makes her light-hearted laugh carry as she places some cardamom rolls in the box along with a few lussekatter and gingerbread. She closes the box and places a stick with "Henricksson's Bageriet" written in black, glossy letters._

 _"Here you are," She hands him the box over the counter and they walk towards the register, "That will be ten dollars and forty-five cents." The man puts the box down on the counter and reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He hands my grandma a twenty and she opens the register to get his change._

 _"Thanks." He cups his hand and takes the change and starts to put it in his wallet._

 _"I'm Sanne," My grandma extends her hands which the guy takes, "This is my granddaughter, Anna." The man offers his hand to me and I politely shake his hand. My grandma's admirable quality can be equally annoying._

 _"Hi," I meekly say._

 _"Hi, I'm Charlie," He smiles kindly, "Nice to meet you both. Thanks for the help. My mom will be happy to see me for once in my life." The two laugh and I can't help but to do the same under my breath. "You ladies have a good one." He nods before glancing back at me. When he opens the door, the bell that rings when someone goes in and out sounds a little strange. He looks back and smiles as he closes the door behind him. The bell rings the same, odd way again. I don't know why it bothers me, but it does._

 _"What a nice boy." My grandma comments as she watches him cross the street. "Very handsome, too." She pats my arm as she moves past me. I roll my eyes, knowing what she's getting at._

 _The bell rings again and that eerie chime makes me jump a little. "Is the bell broken?" I ask._

 _"No." She replies on her way to the back of the bakery. I go to follow, but the bell rings again. What the hell? The door is closed. It rings again and it's starting to make me nervous. My eyes are fixed on the bell, waiting for it to ring again. It doesn't, so I turn around to return to the back. All of the sudden the bell rings again and I spin around and witness the bell ringing itself in that slow, creepy tune. I'm jolted by the loud, pounding knock on the door. I don't see the person who's knocking, just the thing they're knocking on the glass pane in the door with. A barbed wire baseball bat._

* * *

My heat throws itself against my chest and my eyes open to the dark cell room. I grab a fistful of blanket and hug it tighter to me. Wait...blanket? My eyes move cautiously to my shoulder and I slowly turn to get a better view of the khaki green fleece blanket that is draped over me. _How the hell did this get here?_ And then I quickly recall the events of yesterday...or today; it's hard to tell in here. The punishment of the two who stole the bread knife to rip apart my mattress with. Me, coming here and then Dwight...Dwight.

I sniff the blanket. Yep, this is Dwight's. I pull the blanket off and sit up. The incident that occurred in here floods my brain. I, once again, instigated whatever that was. What's wrong with me? Dwight is such an asshole. I let myself forget that for a few days because of that sob story Negan told Daryl. I allowed myself to block out that fact that he's where he's at in life, because he "earned" it. I hear what sounds like keys jingling outside and then the grating of a key sliding into a lock. The door right next to mine opens and I hear Dwight's voice. A minute later, the door closes and it's locked.

A shadow glides through the light from underneath and the door is opened instantly. Dwight stands in the doorway, peering down at me. He walks in with a plate in hand and crouches down. He leans his back against the wall and hands me the plate. I take it and set it down on the floor next to me.

"You should eat," He says softly, yet hoarsely, "He wants to talk to you." I don't have to ask to know that he's talking about Negan. _Great._ I glance at the plate. There's a two slices of bread with preserves spread them. I pick up a piece and hold it without taking a bite.

"What does he want?" I ask while looking at the bread.

"I think you already know." Dwight answers curtly. "Be smart," He adds, "You were right, yesterday. You can't go back to the quarters. After what happened yesterday, it's too late to try and go back to how things were before."

"It's not like I was voted Miss Popularity before."

He scoffs lightly. "Maybe not, but now..." He knows he doesn't have to finish the sentence. I bitterly bite into the slice of bread that I'm holding.

"Why did you come back?" I ask after swallowing the first bite.

"What?"

"The blanket?" I lift the crumbled up blanket that's on the side of me. "This is yours." I don't tell him how I know that.

"I don't know." Dwight looks at his hands, "Hurry up and eat, so we can go."

Dwight takes me up a couple floors and through a ton of corridors before we finally get to what, I think, is the top floor. A potent smell of perfume or incense fills my nostrils as we work down the hallway. There's a room that's double doors are open and as we pass, I glance in and see whom I assume are Negan's wives sitting around gaudy furniture. Some of them look towards us as we walk by. Finally, Dwight stops us at another set of double doors, except these ones are closed. Dwight knocks on one of the doors and a second later, Negan's voice shouts on the other side.

"What?"

"It's D," Dwight answers loudly, "I have Nan with me." There's sharp whispering from behind the door, a woman's voice, and Negan answers the other person by telling her to open the door. A moment later, the door abruptly opens and the woman from the stairwell walks hurriedly past us. Her eyes avoid ours and she's got a hand over her chest to keep her silk robe closed. Both of us watch as she hastily goes into the room we passed before.

"Come in," Negan calls out of sight. Dwight signals for me to go in and it makes me realize he isn't going in with me. I step in to find Negan shrugging on his leather jacket. "Good morning!" His teeth are annoyingly gleaming. "Close the door." He orders. I reach behind me to close it and notice that Dwight has gone. _Wonderful._ I turn back around and take in the kingly quarters of our sadistic leader. _What, did he loot an Ethan_ _Allen store?_ His bedroom is good sized and like the room we passed on our way here, it's brilliant, but a tad over the top. It's way more extravagant than what everyone else has. "Sit down." Negan motions to a chair. I sheepishly go over and plant it. He has a seat across from me on a black, leather sofa. A glass, gilded coffee table rests between us.

"What a crazy day that was yesterday, huh?" He snickers as he swings right foot over to rest on his left knee. "Where'd you end up sleeping?" I look up from my lap.

"In the cell next to Daryl's." I reply honestly. I don't see how I could get in trouble for that. He laughs at my response.

"Shit, sweetheart, you didn't have to do that! All you had to do was ask and I would have found some place cozy for you to sleep." His eyes glint and I catch them flicker over to his unmade bed right before he blinks.

"What was it you wanted to see me for?" I ask while picking at my thumb.

"Straight forward." He grins, "I like it." I meet his grin with a blank expression. "Alright, down to business. You've been working for me for about a week or so, and I think you are ready to move on from trailing D like a damn dog. Breaking Daryl really is a one man job, anyway." I nod my head to show I'm listening. "So, what do you say we cut those aprons strings from Dwight and find you a fuckin' job, workin' girl?"

 _You mean like the one I had down at the baker's station?_ I bite my cheek. Dwight was right, though. Things can't go back to how they were. I have no place among the point-workers anymore. The only one who would accept me is Hal...maybe Sharon. I think I can only go forward at this point, or risk whatever may come if I refuse to work for him. My thought drift to Daryl.

"What do you say, Nan?"

After weighing my options, I glance up to him and take a deep breath. "Okay." I nod heavily.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he says smoothly, "Head down to the front gate, you start guard duty. Six hours, from nine to three. Then you'll be on control burn duty. Go over to the east side, Keller already knows to expect you."

Already knows to expect me? Negan knew I wouldn't turn down my promotion.

"Okay," I repeat as I rise to exit.

"Nan?" Negan hums, making me turn around. His face is more curious and sober than before. "Who are you?" Negan's eyes pierce me as intensely as his question did. I feel my eyelids numbly blink as I harden myself to keep from crying. _Please, don't say it._ A familiar voice echoes through my head. "I need an answer, before you go, sweetheart," Negan smiles, but he's perfectly serious, "Who are you?" _Don't do this._

"Negan." He chuckles and claps his hands together as he stands up. He saunters over to me and places his ungloved hand behind my hand and through my messy ponytail. I tense up at his touch.

"Good girl." He whispers gruffly before kissing the top of my head. I step backwards and leave as composedly as I can. What have I done? I thought it would be easy. I practically did it that day in the east yard when Daryl escaped. I tried to harden myself like marble to get passed it like nothing. Instead, it feels like I might collapse. _Get it together. Marble up._

* * *

I walk over to one of the guards that's standing by the gate. He's resting one arm on the assault rifle he has strung around his shoulders. "I'm suppose to be guarding the gate." I say to him. He doesn't say anything to me; he just lifts the gun off himself and hands it over to me. I sling it over me; fuck is it heavy, and stand where he stood. There's another guard on the over side of the gate. I've seen her before. She's got cornrows and is only a little bigger than me, but that's just because she's better fed since she's a Savior. _What are you?_ I uncomfortably adjust the gun strap on my shoulder. Should I even being handling this? I've only ever used a handgun. And I've never had to use it.

"Want some?" I glance over to the other guard. She's got a tube of sun block with the cap flipped open. I awkwardly extend my hand out and she squeezes a dollop onto three of my fingers. "Standing out here in the heat is way fuckin' harder, if you got a sunburn." She informs as she puts the tube in a pocket of her cargo pants. I rub the goop between my fingers before applying it to my face.

"Thanks." I say while taking whatever's left over and trying to work it down my arms.

"No problem. I'm Solara."

"Nan."

"You the new girl, right?"

I feel something the acidity of bile rise in my throat. "Yeah." I murmur.

It's not long before Dwight and Daryl come outside and Daryl's put to work around the fences. Through the dirty hair that curtains his face, I can see Daryl's eyes furrow with confusion. Or maybe disgust, who knows.

Solara lets Daryl through and Dwight looks me over. "Gate duty, huh?" I twist my mouth and look down. He lingers a bit before striding off. I turn around to watch Daryl, the others, and the dead and wait for the next six hours to pass. Solara has a tough looking exterior and I don't doubt that she is tough, but she's not so bad. She offers me some water from her canteen since I don't have my jug and every now and then, a reapplication of sunscreen. We don't really talk to each other, but better than being stuck with some other asshole.

Around three o'clock, according to Solara's wristwatch and verbal updates, two Saviors come and relieve us of our posts. I walk to the east side and discover some guys piling thing from the dumpsters onto the back of a truck. A man walks up to me and asks if I'm the new girl. I wince and nod my head yes. He introduces himself as Keller and explains to me how control burning works. He claims it should only take an hour since there's not that much in the dumpsters. As he's talking, my eyes wander over to the mattress that two guys are pulling out of the dumps. My mattress. The 'ha-ha slut' cut into it is illuminated by the sunlight behind it. Once the dumpsters are emptied, Keller motions for me to sit up from with him in the truck. Another guy squeezes in, putting me in the middle. The others that were helping climb up on the hatch and bang the sides of the truck.

We exit the Sanctuary, but only go about five miles out to this fraction of a town. Keller proceeds to explain control burning to me and the safety precautions that should be taken when doing so. The men who came along toss the garbage to the side, while Keller and I put everything into on two concise piles. Once that's done, the guys douse the two piles with dead grass and a tiny bit of lighter fluid before striking matches and tossing them onto them. The fires start pretty quickly and we all stand back to watch it. Some of the guys make jokes about roasting wienies and marshmallows while other smoke. My eyes are transfixed on the mattress that burns in the pile nearest to me. The 'whore' side mocks me, even as the flames eat away at it. I remind myself that those two people didn't deserve what happened to them, but I can't ignore the anger I feel now. It just makes it more clear to me that I'm doen in the quarters. Some roamers come from behind some buildings and Keller orders two guys to do take care of them. After a while, Keller hands me a shovel from the back of the truck and three of us shovel dirt onto the piles to put out the fire.

When we return, I'm given the ok to leave. It's good thing, too, because I'm tired and all I want is for this day to end. I start to head for the quarters, even though I know I shouldn't. _Oh, thank God._ Hal's sitting on his mattress. He gets up as soon as he sees me and without warning, gives me a hug. I tap his shoulder and he lets go.

"Where'd you go off to yesterday?" He asks.

"I just needed some time alone."

"I was worried sick, Nan. You didn't come back. I thought something happened to you." He's really in mother hen mode, lately.

"Well, I'm okay," I huff blandly, "I just went into an empty cell and accidentally fell asleep. Nothing happened." _Oh, something happened._ I sigh through my nose and acknowledge all the glaring eyes around me. I just came to get from my trunk and then I'm heading straight back to my cell. "Um, Hal, can you help me take this to the cells?"

"No, Nan, don't be ridiculous!" Hal shouts. "You don't have to withdraw yourself."

"That's what I'm good at, kiddo." I force a smile. _That and crawling into bed with people._ "Please?" Hal reluctantly agrees with a heavy sigh. I don't want to go, but I know that after what happened yesterday; it's time to remove myself from the quarters. I can't keep bunking with Hal forever. We're silent the whole way there and it's not the usual, comfortable silence we do well together. Hal is clearly upset and I don't have the human decency to say something reassuringly comforting to the only true friend I have. Maybe it's because I don't know what can be said to make either of us feel better. To my luck, the cell is still unlocked. I had a small fear that Dwight might lock it to prevent me from going back inside. Hal and I set the trunk down to the left and he looks around the tiny room.

"Cozy?" He asks skeptically.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Standard issue prison blanket?" He says as he looks down at the blanket that's still on the ground. I chuckle humorlessly. I walk out of the cell and Hal follows, biting his lip apprehensively. "You're all set, then?" He says while looking down at the floor.

"See ya later?" I ask, truly believing I don't know the answer.

He glances up and smiles warmly. "Absolutely."

He claps me on the shoulder and my elbow collides with my side. I force myself not to flinch at the pain I felt. As he heads off to the quarters, I spin around to find Carson to get my daily dose of antibiotics.

* * *

When I return from the infirmary, Dwight's locking the door of Daryl's cell. I open the door of my cell and before I can close it, Dwight's hand stops the door. Whatever.

"You're staying in here, again?" He recognizes my trunk against the left wall. "Is Negan okay with this?" I shrug my shoulders. He doesn't know and I frankly don't care if he does or not. _I'll be having my goddamn mail forwarded here until further notice_. Dwight leaves which is fine, because now that I'm closer to Daryl it'll be easier to slip him my last protein bar.

"Here." I say plainly as I push it under the door. I hear him stir in the room.

"Why ya doin' this?" He coarsely mutters. I almost don't believe my ears. I don't think Daryl's ever spoken to me before.

"I don't like protein bars." I fib.

"Ain't cha worried you'll get caught?"

"Yes." I admit. I place my ear closer to the door.

"You work for points?" Daryl asks gruffly.

"Not for very much longer, I think," the words harden my chest. "I'm sorry about the other day. About what happened to your people." He doesn't reply, so I get up and go back into my cell and close the door. I eat the last of my crackers with some peanut butter and then wash my face with some of my water. I crawl over where I slept the night before. Where Dwight and I hate fucked. I throw the blanket over me. If Dwight's going to leave it here, I'm going to use it.

 _The black wooden door hits the bell and I walk to the front of the shop. As I come into view, I see the guy from two days ago. The smiler. He's with a girl who looks like she might be in high school still. They look over at me and their smiles are uncanny. They must be related. I put my hands in my apron pockets as I grin back._

 _"Hi, again." The man puts up a greeting hand._

 _"Welcome in." I say scriptishly._

 _"We had some family come in from out of town and they ate all the stuff I got the other day, before my mom got the chance." He explains._

 _"Charles, you ate some on the way to the hospital!" The girl playfully nudges him._

 _"We just came to replenish." He chuckles._

 _"Hello, again!" My grandmother sings as she strolls into the front shop._

 _"Hi." The guy smiles._

 _"They're here to buy some more pastries." I awkwardly tell her._

 _"Of coarse, we make the best pastries, cookies, and breads in Philadelphia!" She humbly brags. "Only the best ingredients."_

 _"Well, we've got family that can attest to that, since they ate my mom's gift." He charms. "Myself included."_

 _"I hope your mother is well," My grandma says sincerely, "you mentioned she was in the hospital?"_

 _"She's doing great, thank you!" The girl sweetly answers. "Hopefully, this'll be the last procedure."_

 _"Hopefully." He echoes somberly, before picking his smile back up. "So, I guess I'll take whatever you gave me the other day. Better double it, since our family's still here."_

 _"Of coarse." My grandma nods and we both get some boxes and start filling them. I fill mine faster and place the sticker over the box before heading to the register. My grandma gives me her box and she lingers in the background._

 _"Twenty dollars even." I say after calculating on the register. He reaches into his wallet and hands me a twenty-dollar bill. "Receipt?"_

 _"Nah, keep it."_

 _"Alright, you two have a nice night." I retort flaccidly._

 _"Thanks you, too." He and the girl say almost in sync._

 _"Um, Nan?" He says unsurely as he takes both boxes and hands one to the girl. I look curiously up at him. "That is your apron, right?" My grandmother laughs as I look down at the cursive 'Nan' that's stitched in black in the upper right corner of my apron._

 _"Uh, yeah. It's mine."_

 _"Cool. I was, uh..." He puts his free hand on the back of his neck. "Please don't think I'm a creep or anything, but I was wondering if maybe you would like to go get some food with me, sometime?" The girl behind him holds in a snicker._

 _"Oh...uh, I..." I'm honestly taken back and am trying to figure out how to let him down gently._

 _"How fun!" I bite my lip at my grandma's butting in. "Nan hardly leaves her apartment. She's never busy!" Thank you, grandma._

 _"Sure." I politely answer, mortified._

 _"I don't want you say yes, if you really don't want to." He smiles sympathetically. I take a pen and from the cup by the register and scribble my number on the back of his discarded receipt._

 _"Here's my number." I hand him the thin paper. "You can call or text me, whichever is fine" I hope he doesn't give me his number, because the odds of me contacting him are very slim._

 _"Okay, you're sure?" He asks, eyeing my blank face. I nod. "When are you free?"_

 _"Whenever. I'm never busy." I just feel my grandma smirk behind me._

 _"Right." He chuckles. "I'm Charlie. I told you my name the other day, but you probably have a lot of people come through here, so...I'm Charlie." He shakes my hand over the counter as his sister giggles at his humble reintroduction. "This is my sister, Elizabeth." She shyly waves at me and I grin back. My grandma gives a quiet 'hi' in the background. They both head to the door and as they open the door, the bell rings eerily. The guy turns and gives a small wave. "I guess I'll see ya later?"_

 _"Yeah." I raise my brows and smirk faintly. He smiles back and the two exit. What is it with that bell?_

 _"I wonder when he'll call you?" My grandmother laughs behind me. She knows I'm pissed._

 _"When and if he does," I turn sharply on my heels, "You better hope he's not a serial killer."_

 _"Oh, shush!" She blocks her ears and heads back to the kitchen, muttering in Swedish about kids being so dark nowadays._

 _"I don't want to be a story on Dateline!" I teasingly add. The bell above the door rings again and I look up at it, disconcerted. I turn around and shuffle towards the back. A booming knock on the glass pane makes me jump up._

* * *

I put my hands over my face as I try to calm my stupid body that's shaken itself awake, yet a-fucking-gain. I sit up and rub my eyes. By now, my biological clock forbids me from sleeping past six; since that's what time I've routinely gotten up for the last nine months. It gives usually gives me an hour to get ready for the workday. I don't have to be to the gates until nine, though. Footsteps sweep across the floor outside, twenty minutes later, and I know its Dwight. He opens Daryl's cell, closes it, and then I see his feet disrupt the light. _Open the door._ I shake my head and breathe through my nose in annoyance. A light knocks beats against the door.

I can't tell if the sickly fluttering in my stomach is nausea or excitement. Either way, I'm not pleased with myself. I walk to the door and open it. Dwight's glancing down at me with furrowed brows. I raise mine barely, in hopes of knowing why he's graced me with his presence. "Can I come in?"

I open the door wider and mope back into the cell. He waits a few seconds before entering. I turn to face him and he looks at me with a weird look on his face. I must look a sight, huh? I want to ask him what he wants, but I go back over to my sleeping spot and scoop up the blanket. I extend it to him, but he shakes his head.

"I didn't come for that." He states. I apathetically toss it back on the floor and sit down. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." I croak. Dwight stares at me in disbelief. He looks around the cell and shakes his head.

"You can't stay in here." He declares under his breath.

"Well, I am." I oppose docilely.

"Yeah, well, not for long." Dwight rebuts. I give a 'who do you think you are?' kind of look which makes him scoff and runs a hand through his scruff. "I know how you're conversation with Negan went." I turn my head and rest my cheek on my shoulder. "He asked you who you were? And you told him what he wanted to hear, right?" My chest clamps shut like an oyster. "You said Negan." He sighs sharply and I shut my eyes. Dwight sits down on my trunk and leans his arms on his legs with his hands clasped together. We both are silent for a few seconds, until I finally get up and dust myself off.

"Excuse me." I mumble as I stand before him. He gets up from the trunk and I open it to rifle through for my shower stuff. I heard them going yesterday on my way to see Carson, which means they finally fixed the problem. Laundry day is in two days, come to think of it. I put everything in one arm and hold them to my chest.

"You did the right thing." Dwight claims as he exits the cell. What does he know about right and wrong? Whatever right and wrong mean in this world.

I give the woman at the showers my number, which I don't think matters anymore. It must look like I've never showered before, because I keep angling and re-angling myself to avoid getting my stitches wet. I didn't really think things through when I came in here. The Savior is looking at me with a brow raised in bewilderment. After the shower, I go back to my cell and pull out my plastic, wide toothcomb. I thoughtlessly comb my damp hair and think more about what Dwight said. I wish I had been more like Daryl when he was asked that question. Sure, he's suffering the consequences, but at least he didn't fork over his identity. _Ouch!_ My comb snagged the ring in the top cartilage of my ear, pulling it out. "Son of a bitch!" I pour some water over it and clean my ear before putting the ring back in. Can things just go smoothly for two seconds?

* * *

The next two days drag on at the gates. Solara offers me more sunscreen and makes small talk here and there. I give short replies and stew in my misery. Every once in a while, Solara will look over at the fences and observe the workers. Today, she whistled shrilly as if addressing a dog. When I turned around, I realized she was warning a man who was getting too close to a roamer's grasps. _Nice._ I head over to the east side when my shift ends, but am told by Keller that there's no control burn or incinerating going on today. He tells me, "Enjoy your afternoon," and it's hard to tell if he's being sarcastic or genuine.

I go to my cell and grab up my only other shirt and my underwear and head to the laundry room. I remove my bra from under my shirt once I get there, so that I can clean it too. My shirt's just loose and opaque enough and my breasts just small enough to not be a problem for me, should some perverts be lurking by. I sequester myself to a corner in the room to clean my clothes. The laundry workers all give me the look you'd give a pariah. _You really are on the outside, kid._ I wash my undergarments as quickly as I can so I can flee. But when I get to the shirt I had on in the closet the other night, I dip it into the water delicately. I rub the fabric together with more care, as if it deserves some sympathy after being crammed into my trunk.

I don't go to Reed to have points docked for the laundry. I tried to give him the other cards I had for the stitches, meds, and shower the other day, but he just took the cards and didn't write anything down. When I stared at him, waiting for him to do so, he just raised a brow and then told me to get lost. Even if I didin't have to pay for it all, I wish he would have just pretended to subtract the points, for my mental benefit.

The door to my cell is open when I return with my dampened, folded clothes. The room's empty, but I walk in anyway as if I'm just imagining that my stuff's gone. I know who's behind this, right away. Dwight's the only person who knows I've been sleeping in here and he didn't want me to, although I can't find out how it's any of his damn business. I close the door as I step out of the cell and try to remember how to get to that room of his. Is it on the on the first or second floor? _The third?_ Shit, I can't remember. I don't exactly go traipsing through the halls. I decide to go search and hopefully, I'll come up lucky for once. _Okay, think, Nan._ We left Carson and then we went down two flights of stairs, long hallways in between. _His room is on the second floor?_ Maybe? _God, nice super sleuthing, Sherlock._

* * *

When I'm about to turn around and go back the cells, figuring I'll eventually run into him there, I see the bastard leaning against a wall near an open door. I storm over and before I can demand to know where my trunk is, Dwight steps towards me.

"Calm down," He says low with his hand up. I open my mouth to speak, but he continues to talk. "He's still inside." _He?_ "I didn't make this call. He did, alright?" Negan. I bump his shoulder as I hurry past him and into the room. As I enter, Daryl exits. The room is small and bare, although inarguably bigger than my cell. It seems like I've been in here before, but I can't put my finger on when. There's a full size mattress that's elevated by two layers of palettes. Dwight's blanket is splayed out on it. I move my head to the left and my eyes widen at what I see.

Negan's back is facing me and he's standing in front of my open trunk. I struggle to clear my throat to alert him of me being here, but I don't expect it to mortify him.

"This guy use to live here." He says with out turning. He must have that picture of that couple that was in the trunk when I first came to the Sanctuary. "Jesus, look at that wife of his, will ya?" Negan turns his body to the side and smiles like a Cheshire cat. "If only, if only" He chuckles as he flicks the photo back into my trunk. His eyes squint into the trunk. "What is this?" _Please, let it be my comb or my peanut butter._

"Um..." I'm tongue-tied and my breathing quietly hitches. I think I'm about to have a panic attack. His hands dip down into the tear in trunk's lining.

"Oh, goodie, a hidden compartment." He jokes and in a split second, plucks out the locket ring. Negan holds it between his fingers and pulls it open. "Look at you, holy fucking _moly_." He lets out a wolf whistle and I blush. One side has a picture of my boyfriend and I standing in our underwear, outside our apartment complex at night. I'm holding our hairless cat, Bebe, when she was still a kitten and his hands are wrapped me around as we laugh. If you look close enough, you can see a fire truck in the back, spraying the building. "This your boyfriend?"

"Yes." I nearly whimper, but I catch myself.

"Good lookin' guy," Negan notes, "You really got it goin' on, sweetheart. I mean, you probably weigh less now than in the picture," He grabs my right hand and slides the ring on my finger. "But a few good meals can fix that." I rip my hand away. I set my clothes down, pull the ring off my finger, and drop the ring back behind the lining before closing the lid of the trunk. "Goodness, someone's a little fuckin' fiestier than usual. Not that that's an issue for me."

"How come my trunk is here?" I look him square in the eye. _Careful, cool breeze._

"Where else would you're shit go?" He chuckles. I blink at him, confused. "Welcome to your humble abode!" He spreads his arms out. I glance around the stripped down room. "You took the life that lived here, so you _earned_ it." My eyes widen in realization at why the room seems so familiar. This is Ronnie's room. _Was Ronnie's room._

"I...I don't-"

"Know what to say?" Negan laughs. "A simple 'thank you' will do." He stares down at me and waits.

"Thank you." I sigh, fully aware of his eyes trickling down to my bralessness.

"Well, like I fuckin' said, you earned it with your little act of heroism." He tucks some hair behind my ear and goes to exit. "I'll get out of your hair, so can add some homey touches or whatever."

"I'm not a hero," I states coldly without turning towards him or the door.

"You're right." Negan responds. "You're a Savior." His chuckling as he leaves sends a rapid chill up my spine.

It takes me a long time to reason with myself that the mattress that was once Ronnie's had bedding on it and that since the bedding was stripped, along with everything else in the room- _these goddamn jackals_ \- that it's okay to use the mattress. I got some thin rope and tacks to create a line so I can hang my laundry. There's a knock on the doorframe and I look over my shoulder and see Dwight with two beer bottles.

"Can I come in?" I nod my head and he enters. "Here, you look like you need one." I choose not to take offense and accept the beer that he de-caps for me. I'm more of a harder stuff kind of girl, but the beer isn't bad. I finish tacking the clothesline up and start hanging my underwear and bra up. He's quiet, I only know he's still here from turning around to get another pair of panties. "That mattress isn't his, by the way." My eyes flicker up.

"What?"

"Ronnie's. We tossed it, because it was ripped open on the side and...there was-"

"I don't need to know." I shake my head. I think I already now what that sicko was keeping there. Although, it is a relief to know a rapist didn't formally own my mattress. I grab the shirt and walk it over to the line. "Does it get easier?" I blurt out. Dwight's a more seasoned...Savior. He should know if this miserable feeling I have will subside. He's done worse, who better to ask? I gaze over at him and his eyes are blank.

"It depends." He takes a sip of his beer while seated on my trunk.

"On what?"

"Not what," Dwight damply corrects, "why." I nod and hang the shirt. I take it he means that it depends on why you chose to give up a part of yourself and work directly for the lunatic upstairs. Knowing what I know about Dwight, I can understand his 'why' but I'm not so sure I have one, or else I just don't know what mine is yet. _You're a Savior._ Negan's words reverberate inside my head. "Do you regret it?" I turn back to him. I wish I could say 'yes, absolutely' but I know better. However, as I look at him and follow his gaze to the clothesline, I realize the question isn't related to the prior conversation. I glance briefly at the shirt that hangs upon the line.

"No." I answer frankly while walking to my mattress. "Do you?"

Dwight looks down at his hands and shakes his head. "No."

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy! I may have another chapter up by the end of the week.**

 **minstorai: I agree, Simon is amazing. When I watched "Go Getters" I was enthralled by his eccentricity! It's easy to see how he's Negan's right hand. Really hope to see more of him in February.**

 **MaterialGirl7: Lol, I was watching Friends when I wrote that part!**

 **DeathSkittles: Lol, I'm glad you enjoy my story enough to be itching for a new chapter.**


	12. What Do You Want From Me?

"Remus Lupin or Sirius Black?"

"Another Harry Potter one?" I ask. Solara is really talkative. When I worked inside, people usually got the hint that I'd prefer to work quietly, but not Solara. I sometimes get stuck with another Savior who's more stoic, but for the most part I'm playing 'this or that' with Solara.

"It's a good series!" She defends.

"Fair enough." I look at the ground, "Mm, that's tough one."

"Really? I'd say Black."

"I think I'm gonna say Lupin."

"That nerd?"

"Sure." My answers are usually brief, but not unfriendly. She's a sweet girl and we are standing in one place for six hours. At least at the baker's station, I was kept busy. Solara is about to dispute why she thinks Sirius would be better in bed, but she's cut off by the sound of a honking horn from beyond the gate. I open the gate and a truck comes rolling in. Just as I close the gate, another Savior comes strolling up which means it's time for a shift change.

I hand over the gun and catch a glimpse of Dwight heading over, probably to get Daryl.

"Hey." He looks my way.

"Hi." I scratch under my rib. My stitches are killing me. I should probably see Carson about getting them taken out.

"You should see Carson about those." _Mind reader?_

"Yeah." I rasp, before heading to the east side of the factory for control burn duty. Which is like a glorified term for garbage detail.

Keller tells me that we were supposed to use the incinerator today, but it's on the fritz, so we have to go out. We go to our usual spot and there are a few rotters shuffling around, so we have to dispatch them. I use a knife that Keller hands me, since I don't have one myself. It's a process that requires little to no thinking. The dead don't really scare me as much as the majority of my community does. Just pull them close and stick the blade into the skull. Once it's done, we continue to do what we came for. When the fire's going, we watch to make sure it doesn't get out of hand. Out of nowhere, this one guy pulls out a bag of marshmallows and another guy grabs a few sticks from the ground.

Keller laughs as the bag is passed around. When it gets to me, I just pass it along without taking one.

"What's the matter? Don't like marshmallows?" The guy to right of me chuckles. The guy to the left, who has the bag, holds it out.

"Come on, take the needle outta your ass." I sigh and hesitantly reach my hand into the bag and take a semi-stale marshmallow. I grab a stick and impale the marshmallow onto it.

"Anyone got any scary stories?" All the men laugh and I roll my eyes. I accidentally let my marshmallow burn too long and it melts off the stick.

"Aw, too bad." One muffles with his mouth filled with fluff. He hands me the bag and I grab another.

When we get back to the Sanctuary, I see something strange. Stranger than the usual. Sharon's standing out by the gates. She looks stiff as a board and her eyes from here appear to be vacant. I look behind and watch her through the back window of the truck as it pulls around back. _What is she doing?_ I decide to walk all the way back to the front of the factory, but she's gone by time I get back. _Ah, my damn stitches!_ I itch the skin around them and head in to see Carson.

"Nice to see you again, Nan." Carson smiles. I'm probably one of his nicer patients. "And nice to see that you were responsible and didn't tear any of them out. No infection." As he's taking the stitches out, there's a small knock on the door, followed by someone entering. It's that woman again, Sherry. Dwight's wife. She's not alone; a younger girl with long, blonde hair steps inside after her. They both stare at me and I timidly look down.

"Ladies?" Carson acknowledges them.

"Amber would like to take a test," Sherry states softly, "Once you're done. Sorry." Carson nods and I keep my eyes averted.

It's not because I'm shirtless that I'm blushing and pretending that the floor is so interesting. They're both women and Carson's a doctor. I don't have anything they haven't seen, or own. It's uncomfortable to be in the same room as Dwight's wife, after having had sex with him, twice. I mean, she probably doesn't know, but it's still weird. _Stop over thinking this. She doesn't even know who you are._

"There we are," Carson says with the last suture gone, "Perfect heal. The scar will fade, but there will always be one."

"Thanks, Carson." I shake his hand and slide off the exam table. I put my shirt back on to get the hell out of here.

"Um, hey." _Shit_. I turn around and Sherry is close to me. "Thanks for trying to help with that, um, _thing_ the other day." She says, low. I nod my head as my eyes wander to Carson handing the blonde girl, Amber, what looks like a pregnancy test. My brows just furrow on their own as I watch her go into that bathroom. I blink and my eyes snap back to Sherry. I grin and then promptly leave.

* * *

I take a shower and it's weird having so much extra time since I get eight more minutes. It is nice not having to keep water out of my stitches. It, however, is not nice having to shower next to women who despise you. Good thing the timekeeper lady is in here, or else I might be in trouble. On my way back to my room, I hear what is unmistakably two people going at it in the room to the left of me.

"God, not so hard, asshole!" A woman's voice snaps. When I get into my room, I notice my clothesline has fallen down from the two lovebirds knocking into the wall. The tacks are too bent and can't be put back in the wall. _Better go get some nails and a hammer._ As I close my door, a sudden impulse tells me to go in the opposite direction of where I'd normally get the supplies I need. Two turns, one left and the other right and I'm down the hall where Dwight lives. I finally figured it out, after coming back from the infirmary and remembering the day I got my stitches and Dwight stopped to make me a sandwich. I come upon the door and linger outside it for a minute. According to the clock on the wall, it's almost eight o'clock. Dwight could be asleep. _Just wait until morning_. I count to five in my head and knock on the door after doing so, twice. His door opens.

"Uh, I was wondering if you had some nails and a hammer, or something." I stammer. "I, uh, my clothesline was knocked down and the tacks are ruined."

"Yeah, sure." His breath is close and smells like alcohol. He goes to the side and fiddles through some stuff. I stay outside, but I glance around his room. It's a little cluttered and from what I can see, not much bigger than mine. I spy a chess set with little figures standing erect on the board. They seem out of place with color scheme of the board, so I assume he improvised with whatever he could find. My grandma loved chess and forced me to learn how to play so she'd have a "worthy adversary."

"Here." He turns around and draws my eyes away from the set. Dwight hands me some small nails and a hammer.

"I'll bring it back as soon as I'm done." I wave the hammer lightly. He nods and I start back down the hall.

"Do you-" I shift at the waist to look back at him. "Um...do you want any need help?"

"Sure." I reply. "Yeah." _I_ _said I'd bring back the hammer._ He steps out of his room and closes the door behind him. I can tell he's not drunk by how straight he walks on the way to my room.

Dwight eyes the fallen line and the clothes that hung on it, down on the floor. Since I have my own room now and don't really have company over, I just keep my clean laundry on the clothesline.

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. The tacks weren't strong enough, I guess." Dwight goes to one side of the room and hammers a nail into the wall. He goes over to the opposite end and does the same. To my astonishment, one of the people who's responsible for my line falling in the first place, pounds on the wall.

"Knock that shit off!" He shouts.

"You don't here me complaining whenever you _bang_ against the wall." I whisper. Dwight catches that and I notice a small grin across his face as he picks the line up. It makes me smirk mildly to myself. He secures the line to both nails as I pick up my laundry. While placing the clothes back on the line, I feel Dwight's eyes on me. My breathing rises and falls more shallowly and I look over.

His eyes meet mine with an earnest look. I walk shyly over to my bed and sit down. I spend most of my free time this past week and a half alone in my room. I occasionally go find Hal and talk with him for a little while. We usually speak outside, or in here. Hal insists that he doesn't care what his fellow point-earners think about him still being my friend, but I'm just trying to do what I think will be better for him. The only other people I really talk to is Solara with her time-wasting question games and Dwight. But Dwight and I aren't chummy just because we had sex. It's normally he who says something first, but we're both very poor conversation holders. Still, he's been fairly decent to me since the whole public shaming of the two thieves. He heads to my door to leave.

"I washed your blanket," I nervously stand from my bed and go to my trunk. Next to the vase that Negan gave me is Dwight's folded blanket on top of the trunk. I recently got my own sheets and quilted blanket. I'm not remiss on the understanding that my bedding came from someone else's bed. Maybe from Alexandria, maybe another community, but what's a girl to do? The quilted blanket is all white with a floral pattern embroidered all over in white thread. The sheets are cotton and white as well.

"Thanks." Dwight takes the blanket and our hands graze.

* * *

I wake up on my stomach and wrap my sheet around my t-shirt clad chest as I turn over to sit up. Dwight left shortly after we did the deed last night. It just happened. I, like the other two times, provoked it. When our hands touched for that split moment, something just came over me. _Doesn't take much to light your fire, does it?_ No. I walk over to the newly secured line and take a clean shirt hanging from it.

"Jane Bennet or Jane Eyre?" Solara is an avid reader, so most of these scenarios are literature themed.

"Jane Eyre." I answer right away. "Jane Bennet is sweet and all, but Eyre is steadfast and has more fury."

"Yeah, she's cool." Solara says with a cigarette in her hand. "And she don't put up with Rochester's bullshit." She laughs and I smile at her. "Your turn to think of one."

"Oh, I'm not any good." I humbly claim.

"Nah, girl, I always come up with 'em," She takes a quick drag, "Just pick one."

"Pick what?" Davy's voice makes my skin crawl. What he is doing here? Solara doesn't seem to be too bothered by him. Then again, she is holding an assault rifle.

"We were just playing a game." Solara answers, tersely.

"A game?" Davy's eyes creep over to me. "What sort of game?"

"Nothing, just...who would you rather marry?"

"Aw, isn't that sweet?" Davy mocks. "Can I play?" Solara rolls her eyes and gives him a hard look. "Oh, come on, it'll be fun! I'll pick a new question out of the hat." Davy pretends to pluck something out of an imaginary hat. "Let's see, who would you let bend you over a table?"

"Fuck you, man!" Solara growls.

Davy laughs. "As flattered as I am that you were so quick to pick me," he bites his lip and it only makes her angrier, "I don't think I'm your type. And I didn't say who yet."

"Why don't you just fuck off?"

"Davy, this is Gary, do you copy? Over." The radio on Davy's belt speaks. He picks it up and talks into it.

"Yeah?"

"Meet me over by the west yard. The boss wants some shit over here handled. Over." _Hallelujah_.

"Alright, I'm heading over now. Over." Solara gives him a snotty smirk.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Davy looks over at me, "I already know what the answer would be." I put my tongue in my cheek in annoyance. "Isn't that right, Nana- Banana?" Ugh. "You'd let Two-Face nail you on a table?"

All the color drains from my face. His sure smile makes my stomach ache. _He doesn't know._ Does he? It never occurred to me that people might know about Dwight and I. _How could they though?_ _How could Davy know?_ It's not like we were loud like those two that live to the left of me. In fact, I'd say both of us are purposely quiet on our own personal missions to not draw attention.

"Go to hell, you asshole!" Solara shouts. Davy chuckles like the scumbag that he is and strolls away. She flips him off. "Such a prick, man."

"Yeah." I agree quietly, but fully. I can feel Solara's eyes on me and when I look her way, she clears her throats and glances off.

The guys who have to do control burning are pissed when I get there. Not at me, at the fact that we have to go back out since the incinerator is still down.

"Fucking going all the way out there for shit that goes in the incinerator." One grumbles. I just keep my mouth shut since I don't really care if we go out. It's not so bad. And I like the smell of fire campfire, which the control burns are kind of like. Especially yesterday, which I admit was sort of fun. Keller's radio crackles, but whoever's talking is barely coherent. When we get to the gate, Dwight rolls up on his bike.

"Another Grab 'n Go?" Keller asks him.

"Yep. People always get jumpy after disciplinary action." Dwight pays me no mind, but I'm not really offended. We aren't anything to one another. What's happened between us are just moments of carnal need. Itches need to be scratched, so to speak. Keller allows him to go before us and he's gone by time we make it past the dead. Some Saviors have the fences workers out with those dogcatcher poles. They're corralling some of the dead into the vans that create a maze. _Why are they doing that?_

We get back early, since the stuff we had to burn wasn't bulky or hard to burn. I see Sharon again when we get back and ask to be let out as soon as we're inside. She doesn't seem to hear my footsteps as they crunch the gravel and dirt underneath.

"Sharon?" She doesn't look over. She just keeps staring out at the things behind the fences. I fiddle with my hands apprehensively. Maybe I should just mind my own business like usual. I follow her eyes out and immediately see what she's looking at. Ronnie's corpse snaps at the workers in the distance, armless and chained to that rusted car with other rotters. I sigh before I reach a finger out and tapping Sharon on the shoulder. She flinches which consequently makes me flinch. "Sorry. I just...are you okay?" I ask.

She wipes her hand under her eye and sniffles. "I'm alright," her voice trembles, "Just the wind in my face." I want to believe that, but I think there's more to her tears than just the wind.

"Have you been up to see Carson?"

Sharon looks over at me with adamant eyes. "I don't need to see Carson," she says weakly, "I'm not sick." Her words strike a match in my head and I pick my thumb as I grasp the information.

"You're pregnant?"

"He, uh, assaulted me before that night," She struggles to not whimper, "Shortly after I starting cleaning rooms for extra points. He threatened to kill me, if I said anything." Sharon wipes her eye again. "I suspected it the first morning I got sick."

"What are you gonna do?"

Her face contorts as she tries to keep it together. "Do you think I should...?" Sharon stops and stares at me desperately, as if I'll have an answer.

"That's a choice only you can make for yourself." I state as supportively as I can. She smiles faintly at me with tears in her eyes and opens her mouth to speak.

"Hey!" We both turn look over to the left and Laura is walking over. "What did I say, yesterday, huh?" Sharon submissively nods and then flashes me a kind look as she hurries off. "God, what is her deal? She was here yesterday, standing like a creepy statue. I told her to go away, it's not safe." Laura looks at me with an arched brow when I don't say anything.

"Um, she's...not well. "

"Yeah, well, she needs to fucking stay away from the fences." She gives me the up and down. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I mean, I just got back from control burning."

Laura nods, "You wanna go do something fun?" Fun?

"Like what?"

"Like braiding each other's hair and swapping apple pie recipes," Her lips curl at her own sarcasm, "Drinking, what do you think?"

"Oh," I bite my lip, a little disappointed. I kind of wanted to go sit in my room until bedtime.

"Yes, or no, sweet cheeks?" My cheeks flush and I'm not sure why.

"Sure."

"Cool beans."

* * *

I go with Laura to a room that looks like an old factory break room. It isn't the same room from before, which makes me wonder how many break rooms this place had. On the way there, she stopped at a closet and took out some tequila and shot glasses. Laura also grabs some rum, two cans of coke, and a packet of Chips Ahoy! from her room. I've never seen any of those things in the commissary. It's not like those things couldn't be there, it's just that Saviors get first pick of things before they go to the commissary. Alcohol is so expensive that point-workers rarely ever bother to buy it. And it's not distributed the same. Laura has half a bottle of rum in her room; meanwhile someone who works for points can have three ounces for fifty points.

"Ever play hockey?" She asks as she strolls down the hall.

" I played ice hockey since I was nine."

"No foolin'?" I shake my head.

"Huh. I was taking about table hockey. Like foosball, but with hockey."

"Oh, no I haven't."

"Well then, looks like I'm gonna mop the floors with ya." She laughs. We're the only people there which is fine by me. Preferable. We go over to the little table that has the outline of an ice hockey rink. There are little red hockey sticks and a cute, flat puck. We stand on opposite ends of the table. Laura explains to me how the game works. "Alrighty, so when D and I play, the rules go accordingly. Every time I shoot the puck into your goal, you have to take a shot and vice versa. We play to seven and every gave you win, you get two of my cookies."

"I don't have anything to trade if you win."

"Don't sweat it. You'll have something to put down next time." She smiles. "Ready?" I nod and she places the puck in the middle. We put our hockey sticks by the puck, getting ready to try and swipe it before the other can. "One- two- three go!"

Laura gets the puck instantly and smacks into my goal. She makes a noise to celebrate the small victory. She then pours me a shot. "Down it." I pick it up and sigh through my nose before tossing it back. It burns going down, but I'm no baby. We continue playing and it makes me super uncomfortable. I'm not a social creature and although Laura is completely laidback about it, I still can't shake how wound up I feel.

"What's the rum and coke for?" I ask, five shots in.

"For drinking," She laughs, only two shots in, "You like rum and cokes?"

I shrug. "They're alright."

"Boom!" Laura raises her arms up. "Down it." I groan as I put a sixth shot under my belt.

We stop playing after three games, mostly because both of us are nearly drunk off our asses. After about the sixth or seventh shot, I loosened up and got bold enough to get competitive. I'm not sure how many shots, cookies, or how much of the rum and coke I've had, but it's enough to make me kick my shoes off and sit on the floor with Laura, giggling at everything she's saying. Drunken Nan is an anomaly. She still has a guard up, but I've been told she does lighten up. She's either a silly oddball, or mild but on the verge of a meltdown.

"Are you a cat person or a dog person?" Laura asks with her head resting on the side of the table.

"I like both." I admit.

"Did you have both?" She bites into a Chips Ahoy! cookie.

"I did when I was a kid."

"How about right before everything changed?"

"A cat," I take a sip of my rum and coke at the thought, "Our apartment didn't allow dogs."

"Our?"

"My boyfriend and I." I take another, deeper sip.

"He's gone?"

"What are you doing?" We both look over and up at Dwight who's standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Dwight!" Laura snorts as she tries to stand. "I was teaching Nan, here, how to play shot hockey. I won two out of three." I can't help but snicker for no reason. As I attempt to get up, my head swims and I sit back down. Dwight walks over and scoops me up from under my arm. His scent sweeps over me. "Wipe that look off your face, mister!" Laura chuckles, running a hand through her let down hair.

"She's gotta be at the gates by nine, Laura." He doesn't seem mad, I don't know why he would be, but his tone is stiff. _How late is it?_

"She'll be fine! Relax, D."

"Come on, Nan." He guides me out of the room and I'm actually glad to go. I feel a little sick.

We turn down two halls when I start to feel like I'm going to throw up. Dwight has to steady me, as I try to get it together and keep my eyes and mind forward. Determined to make it to my room, I think of anything to distract myself from the queasiness. My mind drifts to my cat, Bebe and how he thought she was the ugliest thing he had ever seen when I first brought her home. And then he loved her when it was clear that she liked him more than me. _"She has no hair,Nan."_

 _"Yeah, I'm aware of that. What's that got to do with her being a traitor?"_

 _"Well, she probably knows she can't survive cuddled up to you. You're a cold hearted woman!"_ His laughter makes me gag. _Think of something else!_

"Easy." Dwight ushers.

The smell of pine and smoke wafts into my nose and it causes my thoughts to flicker to the other day when we were out getting water. I felt so dumb for having pushed Dwight out of the way and landing on him, when the damn roamer didn't even land close enough to warrant such a sorry rescue attempt. Next, I think about how it made me laugh and how I'm certain I saw Dwight fight down a smile. The ride back to the Sanctuary and how I pressed up against him for warmth. _The closet._ I chuckle out of nowhere. The closet, the cell, and last night. I suddenly stop and without any control, I puke onto the floor.

"Fuck!" Dwight gripes sharply.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. I'm usually good at holding it in until I can make it to a toilet or garbage can, but not this time.

"It's fine, just..."He runs a hand through his hair, thinking. He lets out a breathe through his nose. "Can you make it around the corner?" I nod sickly. "Okay, it's just a few doors down." He walks me a couple more feet down the hall and two doors to the right of the corner. He opens a door and I recognize it to be his room. He sits me down in an orangey- brown leather armchair. Dwight reaches over to his left and produces a trashcan. He then goes off to the side and rifles through a drawer or something. "I'll be right back."

I sit in the armchair, holding the can and waiting for him to come back. After a few minutes, I don't feel as if I'll be sick again, so I decide to put the trashcan down and leave to go to my room. I stumble out of Dwight's room and go back the way we just came from, using the wall for support. Around the corner, Dwight's down on one knee cleaning up my vomit.

"Let me do that." Dwight looks up.

"It's done." He sighs, putting a rag into a bucket and standing up. "Let's take you back to your room." On the way to my room, he drops the bucket off in his and we head to my room. The couple that live on the left of me are at it again when we finally get to my room. Another fit of the giggles slip out under my breath and Dwight shushes me, so I try to stop. The sound of those two moaning is somehow louder in inside my room. I crawl onto my bed and sit up on my knees, listening to the palettes they're mattress is on bang against my wall. I put a hand over my mouth to try to stop my childish giggling. My eyes follow Dwight as he moves around the room. He moves the vase off my trunk and opens it. _Hey, stop going through my stuff._ He then walks over to me with my water jug in his hand and opens it.

"Drink it in small sips." I take the jug and gulp down some water. He goes behind me and I feel a tug at my foot. I look back to see him struggling to untie my converse. I turn over, so that my shoe is easier for him to undo. Dwight pulls the one off and starts on the other. As he takes the other shoe off and tosses it to the side, I push myself over to the edge of the bed where he's kneeling. I open my legs, so that he's in between them. He looks up at my glazed over eyes. I put a hand on the right side of his face.

"Nan." Dwight starts to pull my blanket and sheet from under me, in order to help me into bed. The man on the other side of my wall lets out a grunted climax and I chuckle slightly. Dwight puts a hand under my leg to try and get me under the covers, but I don't budge.

"Why are you so nice to me? " I blink dully. When he doesn't answer, I lift my other hand to touch the other side of his face to get him to look at me. The scarred side. He gently, but firmly takes my hand and moves it away. I take it back from him, along with my other hand and hold them to my chest. "I'm sorry." I recoil. The nausea is staring to brew again.

"Here, you should go to bed." I slide down my leggings and start to stand up. "Nan, please, just go to bed." Dwight tries to fragilely push me down by the shoulders.

"Don't you want me?"

"You're drunk." He states the obvious.

"You can leave after like you always do, " I feel my hand creep under his shirt, against some hair and warmth, "I don't mind. It's just-" It all comes up again.

* * *

The light in the room stabs my eyes as they creak open. My head feels like it's made of bricks and hurts like son of a bitch. I'm on my stomach and can feel my hand brush barely against the floor. The smell of the bed is familiar, but not how my bed smells. My room and bed smell like nothing, really. I think I smell coffee, too. I pull my other arm out from under me and groan at the soreness in my elbow as I try to use it to lift me up. As my eyes start to achingly make sense of my surroundings, I see a pair of boots sitting not far from me.

I stiffly bring my head up to see Dwight sitting in the armchair I was in last night, with a knife and some wood in his hands. _I'm in Dwight's room?_ I force myself to sit up and by the feel of the blanket against my skin warns me that I don't have pants on, so I pull them over me. _How did I get here?_ I make eye contact with Dwight and he reads me face as he continues to drag the knife across the wood.

"You threw up all over your bed." He informs coolly. "You needed some place to sleep and I didn't know where else to take you."

"My cell?" I rasp with a dry throat.

"It's not _your_ cell," He scoffs, "Besides, I didn't want you to wander the goddamn factory, drunk. I've seen the trouble you get into when you're sober." I want to argue that I never got in trouble once before I killed Ronnie, except for when Dwight, without reason, had my points suspended on my first day, but my head is throbbing. I look down at the bed I'm on. _Did we have sex?_ I remember drunkenly propositioning him, but after puking which I now remember, everything is a blur. I glance back at Dwight and he appears to see the question on my face. "Nothing happened. I was here the whole night." He points to the armchair with his knife. _Oh...good._

"What time is it?" I look around for a clock that think I saw in here last night.

"Seven twenty-three." Dwight answers after peering at his watch. "You should eat something before you have to go man the gates." My head droops back as I groan lightly. There's no calling in sick, unless you're fucking dying around here, or you get someone to cover for you ahead of time. But everything comes at a price here and no one ever wants something cheap.

"I got some crackers in my trunk." I stand up, sans pants. Again, I'm use to changing in front of people, so it doesn't really faze me to be half -dressed before Dwight. _Plus, he's been between them, so he knows what your legs look like._ I huff through my nose at my blunt thoughts.

"Is that all you eat?"

"It's all I have."

Dwight gets up and goes over to fridge he has. "Why don't you get something else?" He takes a jar of peanut butter off the top of the fridge along with some bread from a brown paper bag.

"You don't have to do that," I insist.

"It's not that big of a deal." He retorts while cutting the bread. He opens the fridge and pulls out a jar of jam. I almost have the impulse to move closer to it to see if a chill will graze my legs; to prove that the fridge works. Instead, I sit back down on the edge of Dwight's bed. He turns around and gives me the sandwich on a plate. I sit it on my lap and continue to watch him move over by his make shift kitchenette. He pours coffee from a pot that was resting on the hot plate of a plug in coffee maker into two mugs. "Here." He extends a mug to me.

"Thanks." I burn my mouth a little from the eagerness to taste it. I haven't had coffee in so long. Dwight sits down at the chair with a mug in his hand. We sit silently for a little while. My head is still beating, but I try my best to ignore it. I wince and casually put a hand my forehead. Dwight glances my way and gets up again and goes behind the chair to a bookshelf that has some odds and ends on it. He leans over to give me something and I put a hand out.

He drops something in my palm and I bring my hand back to find a little white pill with 'aspirin' stamped into it. I look over at him and I feel like I did the other night when his brushed mine. I forced my head to shift back to the place, but I can't hide the discomfort and confusion. _Why are you doing this to yourself?_ I don't know.

"There's a trashcan right there, if you're gonna be sick." Dwight says.

"Why are you so nice to me?" I recall myself asking that last night and my cheeks start to redden as I think more about how I tried to get him in bed. He just stares at me, perplexed. I scoff and shake my cannonball head. "You're an asshole to me from day one and then you just...you're nice to me," I take the aspirin with some coffee, "I don't what we're doing, but it happens and you give me the cold-shoulder."

He still just gazes at me and I put the empty plate with the mug on top onto the floor near his bed. I look for my leggings, but realize they're still in my room. _Awesome_. I stand up for the door to open it and peak out side. There doesn't seem to be anyone in the hall; I could probably make it to my room if I rush.

"You're gonna just walk out there without pants?" Dwight scoffs incredulously.

"How else am I supposed to get my pants?"

"I'll go get them for you." He moves from around the armchair.

"Are you sure?" I snicker coldly. "What would they say about that?"

"Who?"

"Spare me the phony ignorance, alright? If I've heard them, you definitely have." Dwight closes his mouth and that's all the confirmation I need. I turn back towards the door and open it again.

"I don't," Dwight sighs in defeat, "I don't know what you want me to say." I exhale in what feels like undeserved frustration. I glance briefly back at him.

"I don't know, either." And because it's now or never, I walk out of the room. _You're just a pass time._ _Like table hockey. I'm a fool._

* * *

"Bill Sykes or Mr. Tulkinghorn, who would you kill?"

"Both." I grumble. I'm sicker than a dog. That aspirin didn't really help, but if I'm being honest, I went to that closet Laura was at yesterday and took a little hair of the dog.

"Well, if you could only pick one?" Solara, bless her heart for trying to sound patient.

"What would the weapon be?" I wipe sweat from my forehead. The heat isn't helping, either.

"The one you have right now." She answers pointing at the rifle that feels three tons heavier than normal.

"Why would I have to pick one then? This gun has several rounds, so I can kill both of them."

"Pretend there's only one bullet left."

"Left? So, I fired all but one of my bullets, and failed to hit either of them?"

"Just pick one, smart ass!"

"What does it matter? Both of them die in the books anyway."

"Forget it." Solara angrily fishes a pack of cigarettes out of her cargo pants and a lighter. I want to feel bad for being so taciturn, but it's in my nature to be. That, and Hangover Nan is more of an indifferent bitch than regular Nan. Dwight immerges from the factory entrance around one to get Daryl from the fences. We don't make eye contact and it perturbs esme. _He's just a guy you had sex with._ I know I shouldn't feel let down, but the sour conversation from this morning added on top of my embarrassing drunk seduction really just nips at me. Nausea reclaims my stomach, but I breathe through it until three o'clock.

I throw up on the way to the east yard and each heave is another prayer that we don't have to go out today.

"Jesus Christ!" Keller's voice comes up from behind me. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm okay." I try to claim as I heave again with my hand on the factory wall. Keller makes a sound of disgust as he backs away.

"Yeah, you look real dandy there, kid." His face twists. "You know what? Just go. The fucking incinerator is still down and I'm not gonna waste gas on what's in the dumps."

I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. "Ok." _Hi-five the angels._

When I get to my room, I'm reminded of the rancid aroma of sick that's occupied my bed sheets and blanket. Luckily it's laundry day, so I just bundle them up and carry them to the laundry room. _How the hell am I going to get these clean?_ I keep forgetting that I have some privileges now and can get more water than other people, until I see another Savior woman washing her sheets. I feel guilt, but I have to have more water if I'm going to wash them.

Carrying back wet bed linen makes me think that my clothesline may not hold them up, since the blanket is twice its weight in water. I really hope it does, because I don't know what else to keep the line up with. To my surprise, the line does hold. _Dwight did all right._ I scratch my nose ring and put the sheets up in the free space. The dry air in the factory should have these babies ready to be put back on my mattress in no time.

I go down to the commissary and don't have to wait in line to get some new pants. I grab a pair of blue jean and a pair of black ones. I also take three more shirts and a sweater. My eyes scan the food and I ask for some more crackers along with some cans of green beans, turkey chili, and granola bars. The people in line burn with me their looks of disdain, but I ignore it. If I'm being totally honest, I only came down for the pants and might have got the other stuff in spite of them. _Blame the hangover._ Once I put all my stuff away in my room, I grab a granola bar and leave to the cells. I hope Daryl likes peanut butter granola.

* * *

Hal's standing outside my room when I get back from the cells. He's slowly pacing by my door with his hands crossed.

"Hey." I grin.

"Hey, Gorgeous." He rushes over and hugs me, distractedly.

"What's up?" I pull away from him.

"I want you to be careful when you're near the quarters, alright?"

"What are you talking about? Why?" My eyes nervously observe his face.

"Because people are talkin' a lot more about you and Dwight."

"God, Hal, people are just immature and cruel." I roll my eyes. I'm starting to think the Saviors and the point-earners gossip with each other. That does actually make sense. Divided as we are, we still live in the same community.

"Yeah, but two people ran off yesterday and Dwight didn't bring either of them back."

I bite the inside of my cheek. Did he kill them both? _Like he did Gordon?_

"Just with that, the punishment, and you being here and all..." Hal sighs. "Just make sure you're not alone, alright?"

"Yeah." I nod absentmindedly. Hal raises his eyebrows. "I will, Hal, okay?"

"Alright," Hal replies, satisfied. He leans over and plants a fraternal kiss on my cheek. As he does, I'm given sight of that blonde haired bastard walking down the hall. A sick sense of pleasure creeps over me as he stares at me with anger clearly evident in his face. "Catch ya later, mate."

"See ya, _handsome_." Hal walks off to the stairs, completely unaware of Dwight's presence. I tread impassively over to my door, open it, and close it behind me. _Suck it,_ _blondie._

I pace my nearly empty room. I'm furious that people are theorizing about the sex they think I'm having. I mean, I have had sex with Dwight, but it's no one's business except mine and his and it wasn't for advancement. _I don't see Dwight catching any lecherous looks from Davy or getting his mattress gutted._ I think I need a drink. My door abruptly flings open and Dwight storms through before slamming it close. _What the hell?_

"What the hell was that?" He just about yells.

"Excuse me?" Heat rises into my cheeks like steam.

"Spare me the phony ignorance!" _Touché, Dwight._ "Is this because I wouldn't take advantage of you while you were drunk?"

"Grow up, Dwight. Hal's my friend and that peck was chaste." Dwight runs his hands through his hair contemplatively while I stare at him; ready to pounce at anything he has to say. He exhales irritably.

"What do you want from me?" He raises his hands up in question.

"I want you to be straight with me, Dwight. Admit that you've heard what people have been saying about us. Or me, specifically."

"Yeah, okay, I did. I didn't want you to be upset by fucking gossip."

"What do you care if I get my feelings hurt? You made me think I was going to die when you locked me in that cell a few weeks ago. Did you care about whether or not I'd be upset then?"

"What? Are you fucking kidding me?" Dwight snickers in disbelief. "You want me to apologize for taunting you? I don't even remember that!"

"I don't want your apology, asshole." I shake my head as I remove my shoes and socks while standing.

"Good, because you're not gonna get one."

"Okay, then. So, what do you want?" I don a dispassionate composure, while Dwight appears to be fuming.

"What do _I_ want? To know what _you_ want."

"I think I was pretty fucking clear." I put my hands on my hips while trying to maintain a cool, calm, and collected air. "You let me blow you in the closet and then you treated me like a thorn in your side the next day." Dwight's mouth hangs open as he takes in my words. "And then you fucked me, twice, and...," I let out an exasperated sigh, "I don't expect you to twirl my hair through your fingers and you recite poetry to me in bed. But, at least respect me enough to treat me like a rational human being and not just something warm to stick it into."

Dwight's nostrils flare a little as he closes his mouth tightly. "I don't want to hold hands down the hall with you, D." _Don't say it, Nan._ "And be straight with me. You weren't trying to spare my feelings," _No, this is too far_ , "You just don't want to admit that you aren't faithful to her." _You motherfucker._

"Don't talk about her." Dwight warns, lowly. His eyes are searing hot. "She's got nothing to do with this." Everything inside of me is screaming for me to stop, but my cold, rotting heart wants blood.

"Did you think of her that night in the closet?"

"Shut up." He steps closer.

"Or in the cell?"

"I said, shut up."

"How about the other night, Dwight?" _Stop it!_

"Nan." My name sounds like a storm warning coming from his mouth. Like it's predicting what's to come if I don't batten down the hatches. Dwight's inches away from me and I won't lie, I'm apprehensive at what he might do should I brave on.

"Did you take care of her when she was drunk?" My words are soft spoken. Not so much cutting as genuinely curious. His face falters at this question, like he's actually thinking about it. _That was low._ Something icy burns in my chest and throat and all my exaltation comes crashing down. If I've ever claimed to not have it in me to be cruel, I'm a goddamn lair. I sigh shamefully and lick my lips. "I'm sorry, I-I'm just sick and- and tired. " _Way to take accountability for your words, champ._ He doesn't say anything, just looks at me dourly.

I turn and walk to my clothesline. My suspicions were correct, the blanket and sheets dried really quickly. The blanket is still a tad bit damp, but its not the end of world. As I reach to take the blanket off, I feel his presence behind me. I swallow the aching lump in my throat and turn to face him. He looks down at the shirt I'm wearing. It's the same one from our first encounter. I keep my eyes forward on him, even when I feel his cold fingers run over the skin under my shirt. He lifts the shirt up and over my head and I raise my arms up to help. Dwight's eyes flicker up at mine briefly and then back at my body.

He then slides my bra straps off my shoulders, one at a time, and I reach around to undo the hooks. As it loosens, Dwight grabs a trap and takes it off me the rest of the way. His hands, cold from the factory air, are the only things that let me know that I'm warm and not frigid like I feel after those harsh words, as they delicately traipse along my exposed flesh. My breathing tries to be steady, but it hitches shallowly. Dwight's breathing is so quiet and stable that it seems like he's not breathing at all. His hands finally pause on my waist and around my leggings band. He slides them down half way until they drop themselves and I step out of them, mesmerized by the placidity of his eyes. It's always calm before the storm. I take the liberty of pulling down my panties and let them melt down my legs before I step out them as well.

Here I stand, utterly naked and yet, not vulnerable. It isn't lost on me that I still have a marbled wall around me. That my armor hasn't been compromised like his has. Dwight knows nothing about me, or _him_ , so I feel more secure than ever. It feels good to know that he couldn't throw my past back at me. As bad as I feel for clearly stinging him, it's nice that I can and he can't sting me back. _Sadist._ I reach behind me without taking my eyes off of him and claw the blanket down into my hand. I move past him and drag the blanket with me over to the bed. I place it down on the bare mattress and look over my shoulder at Dwight. He walks over to me and I turn. I take his right hand and encourage him onto the bed with me. He hovers over me with a knee between my legs and then he moves down. I close my eyes as he begins to plant small kisses on my stomach and works his way to my ribs. A hand tangles in his hair and goose bumps start to raise at the feeling of his blonde scruff abrasively caressing my skin. I gasp as he takes a breast in his mouth and a twinge circuits through me when he moves to the other one, swirling his tongue around the areola. I almost cry out as he gets up to my shoulder blade and I feel his hot breath and teeth graze my neck.

At long last, Dwight's lips touch my cheek and then I turn my head to kiss him. He pulls back a little and lets our mouths linger so horrifically close to one another. I lift my head to try and close the distance, but he pulls away some more. "Don't."

I blushingly nod and look into his eyes, waiting to for him to move. He stands up to remove his vest and then his shirt. Next, he kicks off his shoes and quickly undoes his belt to pull off his pants. When he does, his boxers come down as well, revealing his erect penis. I slide myself back onto the bed more and Dwight climbs on top of me. I throw the blanket over our lower halves. I did just wash it. The anticipation is killing me as Dwight just hovers over me. I turn my head as I wrap my hand around his wrist and kiss it. I feel his arm buckle and soon after his lips steal mine away from his wrist.

Dwight's body presses against mine and I snake my hand between us to feel his hardness. He lets out a sharp moan as my fingers wrap around it and he kisses me harder. I slide my legs up so that he can push himself inside. Dwight grabs my left leg and brings it around him just as enters me. My body shutters under him and I know that I've come from all the built up tension. He thrusts into me and I mewl with my eyes closed as he continues. Dwight quiets my whimpers with his lips and he moans into my mouth. I can feel another orgasm accumulating, so I put my hands on his shoulders and push him gently. He rolls over on to his back, taking me with him and once I'm straddling him, I grind with a more determined pace. A few good thrusts and I spasm before freezing up in ecstasy as I clasp shallowly around him. He flips us back over and resumes thrusting into me, which makes my body twitch. "Dwight!" I breathlessly cry out. Dwight bucks two or three more times, before quickly pulling out of me with a hoarse groan. He rolls over next to me and lies on his back to catch his breath. I sit up and pull out my hair tie, letting my hair down. I lie back down and turn my body away from his, expecting him to leave.

* * *

 **As always, thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!**


	13. No Strings Attached

_I walk out of the bedroom and lay my eyes on him sleeping on the sofa. One foot is on the floor; while the other is extended pass the arm on the other end of the sofa. A sweatered Bebe is curled on his stomach and sleeps peacefully, even as she rises and falls because of his breathing. I tip- toe over to them and crouch down by his head. The way his eyebrows are brought together makes him look like he's either really uncomfortable from sleeping on a sofa that's too small for him, or that he fell asleep still pissed from the big argument we had last night._

 _"Hey." I stroke his hair with my hand. He inhales abruptly as my touch wakes him up. "Charlie?"_

 _"Hm?" He acknowledges me with his eyes still closed. I run my finger through his hair, letting my nails comb his scalp like he likes._

 _"Can I lay with you?"_

 _"There's no room."_

 _"I can lay on you." At this point, Bebe lazily opens her yellow-green eyes. I scratch her wrinkly head, which makes her stretch out. Her paws spread out with her claws extended that she rests on his chest._

 _"Shit." He jerks a little and Bebe stands up to leap onto the coffee table._

 _"Can I lay on you?" I ask innocently. He exhales keenly through his nose before nodding slightly. I kiss his cheek and then very carefully climb onto him. I lay my head down on his chest and listen to his heart beating. I let his breathing wash over me as I close my eyes. It feels like I'm a little girl again; when I use to lie with my mother after she'd get home from work and nap on her divan. She use to tuck my hair behind my ear and wrap her arms around me. It's one of the few good memories I have that makes it hurt to know we aren't close anymore. "I'm sorry for everything." I murmur._

 _He rubs my back. "Let's just put it behind us, alright? We'll work it out."_

 _"I promise to be better." His heart beat sounds low and barely audible. I know I fucked up and things have to be different, in order to fix this. I don't want to lose him. Right now though, I'll just lie here as a start. Except...I don't hear his heart. And his chest isn't inclining or declining from breathing. I open my eyes and listen more intently. "Charlie?"_

 _He twitches at the sound of my voice. I don't hear the lub-dub in his chest, but I'm startled by the sound of Bebe's sudden hissing. My eyes glance at her arched on the coffee table. She lets out a fierce hiss while her eyes watch him intently. What's wrong her? She loves him and she's never hissed at anyone, for that matter. Bebe nervously growls internally and as soon as I feel him move again, she hisses and swipes the air in warning._

 _"What's gotten into her?" I move my head up to look at him. My eyes widen with what they are met with. I start up to get away from the rotting body, but its arms seize me and I'm unable to get free._

 _Its jaw sickeningly contorts. "Nan."_

* * *

I sit up in bed after waking up from that horrible dream. I rake a hand through my hair while trying to calm down. Can't I have just one dream that can be respite from this nightmarish place?

"Are you alright?" My eyes sprint around the dark room. Once they adjust, I make out Dwight sitting over on my trunk. He's got his boxers and shirt on with a lit cigarette pinched between his fingers. _What is he doing_ _here?_ I figured he would have left by now.

"What are you doing?"

He puts out his cigarette on the side of the trunk. "Sorry. You're window doesn't open." Dwight stands up and makes his way over to his pants.

"I didn't mean the smoking," I watch perplexingly as he puts a lighter back into a pants pocket, "Um, what are you still doing here?" That wasn't intended to sound rude, but it sort of does.

"I'll leave."

"No, don't." Dwight looks over at me with blank uncertainty. "I didn't mean that you should leave, if you don't want to. It's just...you usually do, so I was, uh, not expecting it is all."

Dwight rests his arm on his kneeled knee and looks at the mattress, contemplatively. He looks at his watch on his left wrist. "It's three o'clock in the morning, I don't want to keep you up." Keep me up? _Won't he just go to sleep?_

"I can go to sleep pretty easily, so you won't bother me."

"Must be nice." He mutters under his breath. _What is that suppose to mean?_

"Well, you can make your own choices," I lie back down on my back, "But don't go if I made you think you might be a burden. 'Cause you won't be." _That was...nice of you._ Yeah, it was. Weird.

He glances up at me and I can't tell if he sighs out of frustration with himself or me. I didn't mean to seem clingy either, because I'm certainly not. Dwight approaches the bed and sits on the other side, facing away from me. "I...," He sighs again, through his nose and rubs a hand on the back of his neck.

"It's okay. I don't want you to feel like you have to stay, either. I know what this is." It took a while for me to make sense of what all our trysts, if you will, have been until last night. When I spit venom at Dwight, brought up is ex-wife, and ultimately won that argument and then was rewarded with mental and physical gain. _God, you are such a bitch!_

"What is this?" He looks over his shoulder.

"It's...not complicated, or it doesn't have to be," I say while staring up at the ceiling, "We're just... friends, I think. We can be." I look over at him and he's still listening. "Friends." I repeat the word in a half-whisper. It's a concept I've been versed in from before. Friend sounds better than booty call.

"Friends?"

"No strings attached." I clarify. If we're both being truthful with ourselves, neither of us is interested in being anything more, right? He clearly, understandably still loves his ex-wife. I mean, they didn't split for irreconcilable differences; she wanted to save his life. And I do not want anything beyond physical contact. I'm better at sleeping with people than I am at being in a realtionship with them. _You hurt the one who loved you._

"No strings attached." He parrots dryly to himself, as he turns his head forward. I put a forearm over my eye as I close them.

"Like I said, you can make your own choices." I decide to focus on getting back to sleep. I feel the bed dip a little and without looking, I know Dwight's lain back down over the covers, exhaling unsurely. _Does this mean we have an agreement?_

When I wake up, three hours later, Dwight's sitting at the edge of the bed with his hands held together. I get up from the bed with the blanket held against me. I fish the water jug out my trunk to drink from it and wash my face. As I swipe the muslin cloth around my face, a knocking from the room to my left starts. _Jesus, do those two ever quit?_ I turn to look at Dwight and his eyes move from the wall to me. A moan on the other side makes me snicker as I extend the water jug out to him. He shakes his head. I put the cap back on and stand up to dress.

I casually step behind the sheets that are still up to change. The modesty confuses me, since as of last night; Dwight has seen me completely naked. All the other times, I was either fully dressed, or had just my pants down. My cheeks redden at the recollection of seeing him as well last night. _Grow up, Nan._ I pull out a can of green beans for breakfast and am reminded that I don't have a can opener. So, I grab one of the granola bars that I specifically got for Daryl and open it up. I hate granola; it's like eating gravel. I toss one to Dwight who alertly catches it. He reads the wrapper; probably making sure that it's not expired.

"It isn't expired." I say while chewing a bite.

"Then why are you making that face?"

I loosen up my face and swallow it bitterly. "I don't like granola bars."

Dwight scoffs, humored. "Then why do you have them?" _Because, Dwight, they aren't for me._

"Same reason, I had all those protein bars. Just something to eat." I imagine there's no such thing as a picky eater in this world anymore, so he can hardly call me out on just eating something for the sake of having food. He raises his brows in a 'whatever' sort of fashion before peeling back part of the wrapper.

We eat in silence. _Well, we're silent._ The two on the other side are not and after a while, we hear a door open and some guy yell out; "Fucking get there already and shut the fuck up!" I recognize his voice and know that he works the early morning shifts at the gates and is probably tired from just getting off an hour or so ago. I chuckle under my breath and Dwight snickers quietly as he eats the bar.

* * *

I hear one of the guards who's waiting to be relieved at the gates complaining about me being four minutes late. I also hear Solara tell him to relax and quit his bitching. I inwardly agree with her. That guy and another who's gone because Solara relieved him are only there for only a short period of time to cover until the next shift. You'd think it would make more sense to have three changes, all eight-hour shifts, but whatever. Who knows how Negan's logic works?

"Bout fucking time, you lazy whore!" The guy yells in my direction.

"Hey, man it's four damn minutes, you ain't gotta be anywhere important!" Solara stands up for me.

"I got fucking shit to do, bitch, and waiting on this other bitch to climb off of Dwight's dick isn't fucking on the to-do list." I tread a little faster, infuriated at his words. I'm so done with people thinking they can say whatever they want to or about me. Just as I approach nearer with half a mind to punch this guy, both him and Solara get down on one knee. I spin around - _oh, God_ \- and kneel as Negan and Lucille make their way over to us.

"What is all the goddamn fucking fuss about, Jared?" We all rise as he motions with his hand to do so. Jared looks me over and then back at Negan.

"She was late for her shift which delays me from being where I need to be." Fucking weasel.

"She was only four minutes late!" Solara blurts out. Negan points a finger at Solara and she ducks her eyes down.

"Solara, Nan can speak for herself," Negan sounds like he's talking to children. His eyes turn to me. "Nan, it that true?"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up." His voice is stern and rigid. "I did not ask you to apologize, I fucking asked you if what Jared, here, said is true. Were you late?" I scratch at the skin around my thumb.

"Yes. I was, sir." _Sir? Come on!_

"Why were you late?" I don't have an excuse or reason for why I was late. I left my room like a minute or two later than I normally would have. I probably shouldn't have took the time to put my hair up in a messy French twist, but my hair tie snapped and all I had was some pins I bought ages ago when I worked for points that I used as clothespins. "Answer me!" I jump at Negan's thunderous shout. Why his paitience is so thin for something so minor?

"I don't have a reason." I admit quickly.

"You know why you don't have an excuse?" He points Lucille slightly at me.

I swallow hard. "Because there is no excuse for being late."

"You are abso-fuckin-lutely right about that! You better be fucking dyin' if you're gonna be late to your post and then you still better fucking show the fuck up!" Negan sounds livid and I'm not going to lie, it's scary. All around us can hear him chew me out which doubles the humiliation. "Do you understand that, Nan?" I take a deep, trembling breath and before I can answer him, he put his fingers under my chin and forces my head to tilt up and look him in the eyes. "Speak when you're SPOKEN TO!" I flinch, as his fearsome face is so close to mine.

"Yes, I understand that!" _Oh, shit._ My declaration of understanding was way too heated. Negan's eyes ferociously imbed into mine. _You really fucked up now._ Negan backs away from me and turns his head to Jared.

"You, good sir, can stand in Nan's place for few more minutes," In a rapid motion, he grabs me under my arm and tugs me painfully to him, "Myself and Nan need to have a little chat." I struggle to keep up with his pace as he hauls me off towards the entrance with short, determined strides. Dwight and Daryl come out as we ascend the stairs. I practically trip and crawl up the steps as Negan drags me. Both men look taken back by the sight.

Negan escorts me through the factory in grave silence. Some Savior starts a chain of that horrible whistle that bounces from person to person. The point earners are probably hopeful that I am going to be getting some comeuppance for the wrong they believe I've done. We turn down my hall and once we're at my door, he flings it open and tosses me inside. I stagger forward, but manage to catch myself from falling on my face. I hear the door creak close and I turn to find Negan standing in front of the door.

My throat clenches as I observe his dark eyes. The arm he grabbed me by stings, but I refrain from touching it. If he's going to hit me, he needs to just get it over with. I can at least reason that he's probably not going to kill in here, because there's no one to watch him, the narcissistic prick. "You were quite the pistol back there and I'm not gonna lie, darlin', it really turned me-" Negan stops and his face curiously furrows like he smells something. His eyes flicker to mine, unpleased. He walks over to my trunk, ducking under my line to get to it. He opens it and I beg inwardly that he isn't after my ring as a punishment. Negan lifts the trunk and dumps out everything, the vase he gave me slides off and shatters, before he sets it down, all while being intensely quiet.

"Hm, no cigarettes." He inspects. "Are you a smoker, Nan?" I shake my head while clawing the fuck out of my thumb. "It smells like cigarette smoke in here...among other things." Negan chuckles darkly. I put my hands behind my back so that I can press my thumbnail into the palm of my other hand. "Do you know what I've been hearing about you?" I shake my head no, but I suspect that I do. "You are a fuckin' topic of interest as of late." I stare indifferently at him. "Yep. From what I hear, you were screwin' Dwighty boy, so that he would give me positive feedback about you, so that you could get out having to work for points."

"That-"

"And that whole incident with the mattress kinda makes me think that that might not be false." Negan smiles devilishly as I stare blankly at him. "It is true?"

"No, it isn't." I say truthfully.

"Good. I like Dwight and I hoped he'd be smart enough to not let pussy cloud his judgment." My cheeks warm up at the implications that I put out for a position that I never wanted to begin with.

"Where did you hear it from?" I inquire innocently.

"Sweetheart," He towers over me, "I am everywhere. So, I hear everything. Nothing goes on without my knowing about it." His breath grazes my cheek. "I don't mean to nosy, or nothin', although I'd love to be a fly on that wall, if it were true. I just didn't want to reward you with such an _awesome_ job, if you just skated by by lifting your skirt up." Negan laughs huskily under his breath.

"Well, I would never skate by, so you didn't." I claim coolly.

"That's my girl." Negan's voice is low and I feel his hand scoop up my chin. I tense up as he leans closer to me. His lips are practically brushing against mine. I step back timid, but adamantly. Negan's eyes trail my body, toe to head, and his smile lessens. "So, you and D aren't laying pipe?" He questions skeptically.

"Am I in trouble for being late to my post?" I dismiss the question. Negan's smirk turns serious, his eyes still inquisitive.

"Not this time, sweetheart. Next time, might be a different story. So get to the fucking gates." I exit as unfazed as I can. When I hear my door close, I glance over my shoulder to see Negan head off to the top floor, I assume. That was the weirdest encounter I've had with that man. _So, Negan knows about the sweet and low down between Dwight and I, too, huh?_ I suppose when everyone is Negan, Negan is going to be enlightened on who's screwing who. But, why does he care? _He was going to kiss you_. Ew, what? No, he was just trying to intimidate me like he does everyone else. I roll my shoulders to get the thought out of my head.

When I get outside, Dwight is sitting on the concrete steps. He looks over his shoulder and stands when he sees me coming for the stairs.

"Hey, what happened?" He follows me down the stairs.

"Nothing."

"Solara said you were late and that you yelled at Negan."

"I didn't yell, I raised my voice." Dwight continues to walk with me to the gates.

"Where'd he take you?"

"My room to yell at me for being late."

"Well, look who's back to actually do her job." Jared has an arrogant smile painted on his face.

"You can go now, Jared." Solara puts her hand out for him to remove his gun. Jared slings the assault rifle off himself and once I'm close enough to him, he shoves it to me hard and walks off. I put the strap over my shoulder and stand at my usual spot. I spy Daryl with the other workers. He looks my way, but I just turn my back.

"Nan?" My eyes drift to Dwight. "You alright?" I nod my head mechanically. He looks over at Solara and then his watch. "Can you bring Daryl back to the cells at three? Since there's no control burning today?" I nod again.

Dwight dallies for a second before heading off to the entrance. After a long while, Solara clears her throat. I prepare myself for questioning about what happened inside.

"Cathy Earnshaw, or Isabella Linton, who would you cliff?"

* * *

At three o'clock, the usual guards stroll up to take Solara and I's place. As I'm handing over my gun to the other guard, he says; "This is what it looks like when you're on time," I scoff as he chuckles, "Take note, doll face." I open the gate and put my index and thumb in my mouth. I let out a sharp whistle and Daryl looks over.

"Let's go!" I shout out at him. I automatically regret the rudeness in my voice. It's not his fault that my sex life is currently hanging for everyone to see. Daryl moves quickly through the plethora of dead to get over to the gates.

As we walk to the cells, Daryl glances over at me.

"What'd ya do?"

"I was late to my post." I answer flatly.

"What'd he do?"

"Nothing, I got reprimanded. Verbally."

"What's that then?" He nods to my arm. I look at my arm and stop when I see an imprint of Negan's fingers bruised into my pale arm. When I see Daryl's eyes through his mop of hair, I motion for him to keep walking. Dwight isn't at the cells yet when we get there _. Great._ So, we linger by the cell until he does. "Why'd ya do it?"

"What?" This is the most talkative I've seen Daryl, except for that time Dwight yelled at him.

"Why'd ya kneel?"

I scoff as I shake my head. "I'm not like you, alright?" His dirty face stares at me. "I know how things are, longer than you have, and I know that there's no other way."

"Ever tried to find one?"

"No." I answer frankly. "People try to all the time and it never ends well for them. They get brought right back here, or like that guy in the poloroid." I want to kick myself for mentioning the photo that's in Daryl's cell. I saw what it was. "You either work for him alive, or you work for him dead." The words spin from me like a web and my chests tightens at the ease in which I weave them out. "That's the only choice you have, " I look him square in the eye, "Is whether you want to live and work, or die and work." Hot tears gather in my eyes and Daryl turns his head to the hallway that Dwight's now coming down.

"Sorry, I was late I-"

"There's no excuse for being late, Dwight." I scrape past him as I trek away to my room.

On my way there, I go to the closet that's filled with a treasure of alcohol. I don't have a cup, so I just take grab three or four of these tiny bottles of whiskey that I find in a metal basket. I chug two down before I get to my room. _Alcohol doesn't numb the pain, it only makes things worse._ Thanks for the sage wisdom. When inside, I take a good whiff of my room. Sex and smoke. That's what perfumes this place. I chuckle sardonically at the realization that Negan knows the truth. The world's a pit of despair and people are still running around like middle schoolers, making dirty remarks and writing mean words onto other's property! I carelessly drop the empty bottles that crash onto the floor. There's a knock on my door a few minutes later.

"What?" I already know who it is. The door opens and Dwight stands in the doorframe. "I'm fine." I state firmly.

"There's glass all over the floor."

"I'll clean it up, later."

Dwight walks away, leaving the door open. It's probably for the best. If what I think we've agreed upon is in effect, then he doesn't have to stick around if he's sure he's not going to get to dip his wick. However, just as I'm about to get up and close the door, he returns with a dustpan and hand broom.

"Don't do that." I take the dustpan from him. "I said I would clean it." I put my hand out for the broom and he gives it to me. I squat down on one knee and brush the glass into the pan.

"What happened in here?" I know he's talking about Negan and not the broken glass.

"He asked me why I was late," I lie, "I said I didn't have an excuse. He told me not to be late again, or else I would be in trouble." Omitting the other stuff is better for the both of us.

"Well, no use crying over it, right? It could've been worse." I can't help but sneak a peek at his facial scars. _It could have been worse._ I take the glass filled dustpan and broom as I make my way over to the spilled contents of my trunk. After I sweep up the pieces of vase, I put everything else in as neatly as possible and see Dwight's shadow sweep across the room. My sheets are taken off the line and I watch bewildered as he starts to tuck the fitted sheet along the mattress.

I close the lid of my trunk and sit on it, intrigued by Dwight making my bed. Once he's done, he looks over at me and I fidget upwards off the trunk. Dwight takes the broom and dustpan and leaves, this time not coming back.

* * *

I shift from side to side every couple hours, trying to get some sleep, but am unable. I make a mental note to get a clock so that I actually know what time it is in here. _Go find Dwight._ No, I've been inadvertently relying on him a lot lately. Besides, what's he going do for my inability to sleep? Whenever I couldn't sleep before _, he_ would let me lay my head on his chest, or back depending on how he was sleeping. He'd wrap his arms around me and even talk with me, half-asleep, until I nodded off. I suddenly feel lonely and fight the urge to leave my room. _Leave him be, you leech._

The next three days are excruciatingly long. I can't sleep and I have no idea why. The heaviness in my eyes taunts me as it feels like I need only close my eyes to drift off into a blissful slumber, but every time I get the chance, I'm wide awake. Dwight hasn't come to see me since he made my bed. He's spoken to me briefly, but nothing more than small talk. I don't get the sense that he's mad; more like he's giving me space he thinks I need, or something. _You need a good lay._

I close my eyes on the way back to the Sanctuary from doing more control burning, although it just keeps me thinking. My new blue jeans now have holes in the knees from scraping the hell out them on the gritty pavement of the road near our usual spot. We were clearing the roamers from the sight and, out of sleep deprivation; I slipped up and went down with a grabby corpse. I landed on it, but it held my hands too firmly for me to stick its head with the knife. A guy came over and curb stomped it's head, spattering blood on my face, neck, and arms. I expected to catch a little taunting, or scolding from Keller for not watching my step, but no one says anything. The guy offered me his hand.

"Shake it off, sunshine." He tells me as he pulled me up. I'm guessing the 'sunshine' comment is because I look like death warmed over.

When I get inside, I aim to go straight to the showers and wash mine and the roamer's blood off. The scrapes on my knees aren't bad at all, just a little bloody. I think I have corpse blood in my hair, though. A wolf whistle comes from the left of me and I know its Davy from spotting him upon entering the building. I glance over in his direction and I also can see Laura, Reed, a few point workers, Fat Joey, and Dwight who's got Daryl mopping the factory floor. _Please, just leave me alone._ I have to pass them in order to get to the stairs and I can tell by the looks on their faces that I look gross.

"You have seen better days, eh, sweetheart?" Ugh, Why does Davy have to be such an insufferable asshole? Laura covers her mouth to conceal a laugh at Davy's snide words. Reed and Dwight are both quietly watching me with uneasy faces. I try to pass, but Davy moves in my way _. Please, just go away!_ "The world a little rough out there?" He snickers. I glazed eyes look at his smug face.

"Leave me alone." I murmur with my head lowered a bit.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that." Davy teases.

"I said be nice and leave me alone." I roll my eyes back up at him.

"You like nice guys?"

"I just want to pass, please." I can feel a bending sensation in my chest, like a twig or a rib. I'm just so tired.

"Well, there's a toll to pass," Davy steps closer to me, "But from the looks of those holes on your knees, your sweet mouth might be able to get you by."

"Davy." Laura steps over as if to tell him to ease off, but it's too late.

Davy doesn't know what hit him, but I do. He barely stumbles back and that's because he was taken by surprise by my fist colliding with his face. Davy brings his finger to his mouth where I can see blood. He lunges forward and I rear my fist back to hit him again, but Dwight, Reed, and Laura are on the both of us like flies. Laura and Reed grab Davy back and Dwight steps between us to pull me away.

"Hey! Hey, Stop!" He yells at me while Reed and Laura are struggling to keep Davy from decking the halls with my blood. Let's be honest, he'd clean my clock. "Nan! Stop!"

"You motherfucking whore, wait til I get my hands on you!" Davy shouts while trying to break away.

Dwight turn towards the three Saviors, while keeping a forearm blocking me like a riot shield. "Get him the fuck out of here before someone radios Negan." Davy simmers down at the mention of Negan. It doesn't matter how great a leader you think Negan is, no one wants him to have to be called if not necessary.

"Go!" Laura shoves Davy back a bit as his eyes sear in my direction like a predator on prey. He hocks bloody spit onto the floor.

"You better keep your girl in line, D," Davy warns Dwight with a pointed finger which he then directs to me, "Next time he won't be here to save you, bitch." He forcibly shrugs Reed and Laura off of him and storms down a random hallway.

Reed whistles loud and shrilly. "Get the fuck back to work!" The crowd of people slowly starts to file out. "Anyone who isn't busy in three seconds will have their points suspended until I fucking say otherwise!" The workers put their head down and disperse back to work. Daryl stands with both hands on the mop handle, while Laura tells Fat Joey to go make sure Davy cools off. Fat Joey heads off, but he probably won't do it, since no one wants that task.

"Nice shot, beautiful." Laura smirks my way.

"Shut up." Dwight calls back and then his eyes are hot on me. I don't care. _What's he going to do, bend me over that table?_ I chuckle darkly. Dwight takes me by the elbow and walks me towards the stairs. "Clean that up." He looks down at Davy's spit on the floor that Daryl runs a mop over.

Once we get to the stairs I move my arm away from Dwight. I stop a step up from him. "I can walk myself to my room."

"Keep walking." Dwight orders hoarsely. _Fuck you, Dwight._

"Who do you think you are?" I smile haughtily.

"Your friend, isn't that what you wanted?" His biting words make me huff with salt. "Keep walking, Nan."

I go into my room and hotly get my shower stuff for a much need shower. Dwight's in the door frame which really irritates me, so I rudely nudge past him when I exit. Even more annoying, he trails me down the halls to the showers. When we get there, its empty accept for the timekeeper who looks pissed at my arrival.

"No, no! Showers are done for the night. I'm leaving." She snaps.

"It's alright, Nancy, I'll keep time." Dwight steps inside the bathroom. _Go away!_ She taps the book in her hand contemplatively on the side of her leg. She looks me over. It's going to be even harder to shoo away any speculations about Dwight and I.

"Fine," She looks back at Dwight, "Fifteen minutes, D." She reminds him before walking out. Dwight walks over to the chair with his arms crossed and sits down. His eyes motion towards the showers. I walk into the stall and close it behind me. After setting my stuff on the floor outside, I peel off my shirt and toss it to the wooden bench two feet away.

"What's that?" Dwight asks abruptly. I furrow my eyebrows, not knowing what he's referring to. I decide to ignore him and turn the shower on. He approaches me and reaches over the stall to grab my right arm. "What happened?" His new question makes me acknowledge the bruises on my arm from a few days ago. I have nothing to be ashamed of, but I still look away like I do. "What happened to your arm? He demands to know.

"It's where Negan had my arm when he brought me inside the other day." I explain as I take my arm back. "I only have thirteen minutes left." I add bleakly. Dwight looks disturbed by the bruises and I self-consiously turn to the wall.

"What the hell was that back there, huh?" I know he's talking about punching Davy. "I told you to stay away from him."

"I'm tired of everyone calling me a whore or asking if I'd let you bend me over a table," I answer, removed from emotion. "I just want people to shut up and leave me alone."

"Yeah, well you can't stop people from saying shit." Dwight retorts as he goes over to sit back down.

A pit hardens in my stomach, as I know he's right. People are going to talk, no matter what. And I can no longer deny that anyone knows anything. Its irrelevant whether anyone's seen or heard Dwight and I or not, because all the suspicions are true. I never did anything to boost myself to Saviorhood, but I have fucked and am fucking Dwight. And vice versa.

I wash all the dirt and blood off my skin and out of my hair in silence. There's time left over, so I just focus numbly on the tiled wall of the shower, thinking about nothing at all. When it's time to get out, I wrap my towel around my body and stand docilely in the stall for a few seconds. I eventually peer over at Dwight who's looking at me with an unreadable face that's soft. I dress fairly quickly, so that I can get back to my room and go to bed.

* * *

I toss and turn under the covers for hours, yet again. Dwight walked me back to my room after the shower, but didn't stay. My brain keeps projecting his image onto the backs of my eyelids. I shrug a shoulder or open my eyes and blink a few times to rid myself of him, but to avail. If I'm not thinking of him, I'm thinking about Negan dumping my trunk on to my floor in search of cigarettes. _Or any evidence that you and Dwight are messing around_. Why does he care? Maybe he wants to know, so he can tell Sherry and put a bigger wedge between her and Dwight. It's not like they would dare sneak around behind his back with disregard of the consequences. _"Nothing goes on without my knowing about it."_ Negan's just a sadist who likes twisting the knife any way he can. _He was going to kiss you._

I sit up and pull the covers off me. I put a shirt and my leggings on, before leaving. Once the door behind me is closed, I tread lightly down the hall, barefoot. It's not entirely quiet. There's an open door where the stench of cigar smoke and spilled liquor fills into the hallways as a few men sit around a table, playing cards and chatting trivially. Right as I turn the corner, a door behind me opens and a man's voice shouts for the card players to shut the fuck up and a few of them yell back at him to mind his own fucking business. When I get to the door, I can see a bluish light flickering from under the door. _Turn back now, while you still can._ I anxiously bring my hand on the door and knock gingerly, three times.

"Yeah?" His voice asks from the inside.

"It's me." I call softly. I hear smaller voices and what sounds like faint, collective laughter. The door opens and he's looking down at me. His arms rest between the doorframe and the door. "Can I come in?" Dwight steps aside to allow me to enter. My eyes immediately turn to the flashing lights that I discover are coming from his television. _Is that The Golden Girls?_

"What's up?" I can smell beer when he speaks and turn to him closing the door.

"I can't sleep. I haven't really in a few days."

"Would that explain why you almost got your head handed to you?" He snickers flatly.

"I told you why that happened." My eyes look fervently at his. He raises his brows and dully nods.

"You can sleep here, I guess," His hand signals to the well made bed.

Dwight walks over past his armchair as I sit down on the edge, nervously. Part of me wants to let my head drift back to the T.V., but I watch as he opens the door of a small closet. He produces a pillow from behind the door and throws it over to me. I peel the blankets back to slip in and place the pillow where I lay head. Dwight sits down in the armchair and picks up the same knife and wood he was carving at the other day. Well, I think it's the same wood. I dismiss the let down feeling that creeps up on me and turn my head to the Golden Girls. It's hard to tell if I'm actually snickering at the conversation on the screen, or if I'm even aware of what's going on at all. My eyes rail against the heaviness that makes them sink down, especially when a sound made by Dwight is caught. After a while, they give in.

* * *

 **Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! I may have another chapter up by Sunday at the latest. This may be the last time in a while where I have two chapters out in one week, since a new semester of school has started.**

 **Being said, let me just say that I'm happy that a Dwight/OC story is well liked! He's such an interesting character and I just love him. Even though he's being such an asshole, I still think he's a precious, half-burnt cinnamon roll that gets a bad wrap for being a dick to Daryl. Lol**

 **minstorai: To answer your question, yes, Laura is the blonde girl who was putting the moves on Spencer. She's also the girl who was playing the drinking game with Dwight in a previous episode. Also, Solara was saying all those things to Davy at the gate; Nan wasn't talking to him. Sorry for any confusion!**


	14. Friends

_"You have nothing to say?"_

 _"What do you want me to say?"_

 _"Anything! Yell at me, call me names, make me face a mirror! Don't shut me out!"_

 _"I'm not much of a name caller."_

 _"So yell at me, then!"_

 _"No."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"Because I don't want to, that's why not."_

 _"Please, Charlie..."_

 _"I'm going to bed."_

 _"Just ask me what you want to know."_

 _"What do I want to know?"_

 _"You want to know why I'm home so late."_

 _"Yeah, I do. You said you'd be home after work and almost ten. You didn't call."_

 _"I'm sorry, I should have called."_

 _"Were you with her?"_

My body flinches and I open my eyes to see the placid wall. I must have turned over in my sleep. The pine and smoke smell curls into my nose, reminding me of where I'm at. I want so desperately to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but the sun's peaking through the windows, which means I should be up.

"You do that a lot?" He inquires behind me. I roll over to face him. Dwight's still sitting in the armchair. He's got an arm resting on the arm of the chair while his head rests on his fist.

"Do what?" I ask naively.

"Jolt yourself awake like that."

"Oh. Yes, I do." I mildly look at his face. He looks tired. Did he sleep in the chair all night?

"How long you been doing that?"

"Since things got bad." Dwight nods at my answer. "What time is it?"

He looks at his watch. "Six-ten."

"Did you sleep there?" I straighten out my shoulders to work the stiffness.

"No." He sighs while rubbing his eyes with his hand. I glance over my shoulder and notice that aside from where I slept, the rest of the blankets remain undisturbed. As neatly as they were last night. _Liar._

"Where did you sleep, then?"

"I didn't," He answers bleakly, "sleep."

"Why not? I wouldn't have cared, if you moved me over. It's your bed, after all, I intruded." I really wouldn't have cared; in fact, I was a little bit disappointed he didn't. To tell the truth, I was kind of hoping we would have fooled around. At least, that's how I feel right now. It would have made my sleeping here less strange.

"I wasn't tired." He explains. "And you weren't intruding." Something warm billows in my cheeks.

"I would have stayed up with you." I think I really would have. _You sound so tenderhearted._ It feels gross for whatever reason.

Dwight snickers softly through his nose. "You passed out ten minutes after laying your head down." I smile lightly. I was exhausted. It's nice to have finally gotten sleep after three days of lying awake.

"Thanks...for letting me crash here."

"What are friends for?" He stands up and goes over to the kitchenette. I sit up and take my shirt off as his back is turned and he turns on the coffee maker. I get up and pad over to him.

I anxiously put a hand on his shoulder, making him turn immediately. He looks confusingly down at my breasts and then at me. I don't know why I want him, but I do. I awkwardly take his hand and place it on my right breast, which he holds without my help. My hands gingerly reach his shirt and I let them slide under to feel the warmth of his skin. Dwight moves at my touch and I step forward a tiny bit, before he takes his hand from my breast and with both hands, grabs my face; kissing me. I put my hands on his arms and pull us back towards his bed.

When we're both close enough to where I can feel my legs touch the mattress, I lift his shirt up while continuing to kiss him. He removes the shirt the rest of the way and starts to undo his pants. I reach down to help him and he lets me do it as his hands return to the sides of my face. Dwight hurriedly steps out of his clothing and as I lower myself to his bed; a raspy giggle escapes my mouth. It makes him smile openly and breathily laugh. He towers over me and we resume making out while I slide down my leggings and underwear.

Before we go any further, a knock at the door freezes the both of us. "Yeah?" Dwight call over his shoulder.

"Can I borrow some coffee?" Laura's voice answers from the other side. I touch Dwight's semi-hard penis and he flinches.

"Uh, yeah, hold on a sec." Dwight smiles down at me before getting up. I pull the sheets to me as he rapidly dresses. Once dressed, he goes over to the kitchenette and hastily scoops some coffee grounds into a small cup. As Dwight walks to the door, I wrap the sheet around me and move out of sight. "Here."

"Thanks, I'd be a wreck without caffeine." I can hear the smile on her face. Laura likes Dwight, I saw this the first time I had seen her talk to him when she gave me back my shower supplies. "I'd probably lose my cool and start throwing punches like Nan."

Dwight snickers but I can't tell if it he actually thinks it was funny, or not. "Yeah, well, Davy's an asshole who doesn't know when to quit."

"Totally. I'm glad she did it." Laura laughs. "Well, see ya." Dwight returns the 'see ya' back to her and then closes the door.

"She likes you." I profess with a small smile. Dwight looks over to me.

"Yeah, I know." He replies with a smirk on one side of his face. I sit down on the bed.

"You don't like her back?" I ask innocently. "She's a good looking girl."

"I like her," Dwight explains as he sits down beside me, "just as a friend though."

"We're friends." I giggle sheepishly.

"It's different." Different?

"Different, how?"

"I don't know, just is."

I nod while looking around the room. The interruption killed the mood, I think. I lay back onto the bed and he moves so that he's halfway on top of me. _Maybe not._ He peels away the sheet, exposing my breasts. I put a hand on his face and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. As I reach my other hand for the other side of his face, Dwight turns his head slightly.

"It's okay." I say softly. His eyes meet mine with apprehension as well as interest. I slowly move my hand to the scarred half of his face and he lets me. My thumb caresses the tattered skin and tucks hair behind his other ear before returning to his face. "It's okay." I repeat, honestly. Dwight sighs shallowly before bringing his mouth down on mine. His hand snakes across my stomach and suddenly I'm pressed closer to him. I fiddle with his pants while he pulls his shirt over his head again.

After leaving Dwight's, I head to my room nonchalantly. I put the back of my hand to my cheek and feel the post-orgasmic radiance; I almost smile. As I turn down my hall though, I stop dead in my tracks when I see my door ajar. A knot gathers in my throat as I go up to the door and nervously push the door open. _Ho-ly Fuck!_ The room is completely turned upside down. I don't have that much in here, except my bed, clothesline, and trunk, but it's an absolute nightmare. The mattress is flipped off the palettes and stripped of my bedding that's balled up on the floor. The clothesline is down with only one side still hanging on the nail; my clothes are strung out all over the floor and some of them are ripped. There's a strong smell of urine in here and it doesn't take a genius to know that someone's pissed on my sheets and blanket.

I approach my overturned trunk and drop to my knees in a panic. I rummage brashly through my stomped on belongings in search of one thing _. Please, for love of all that is decent, don't let it be gone._ I see that the picture of that couple didn't fall out and is still tucked into the crevice I placed it in the other day with my ring. _My ring!_ _Where the fuck is it?_ I flip my trunk right side again and look all around for it. Behind the trunk, I spot it and a wave of relief washes over me. Except...oh no! The part of it that opens is broken off and the little pin or screw of the hinge is gone. I cradle the locket ring in my hand as I try to force down tears. I know who did this. I also know its eight minutes to nine and I need to get down to the gates, if I want to avoid getting skinned alive.

"You okay?" Solara leans her head over to look at me. I've been picking at my thumb all day in thought.

"Fine. Why?" I reply emptily.

"Well, you didn't answer the question."

"I'm sorry, what was it?"

"Never mind." She sounds like a kid.

"Sorry, I was just...distracted is all."

"How come _?" Because that motherfucker, Davy, trashed my room last night._ I have a dreadful thought of how lucky I might have been. Davy couldn't have known that I was going to go to Dwight's room last night, because I didn't even know. Was he looking for me? I almost distressfully laugh to myself at what he might of done. That, or cry at the thought as well, but I shut that shit down. _There's no crying at the Sanctuary, it won't ever do you any good._

"Tired." Is all I relay.

The incinerator is working now, so I'm told to go down there in half an hour after I get off gate duty. It gives plenty of time to go get my bedding and any other unsalvageable things, in order to burn them. The bedding technically could be washed, but I'm not going to hand scrub Davy's piss out of my bedding.

"What the hell happened?" I turn around to find Dwight with Daryl behind him. Dwight looks over at Daryl and tells him to go stand by the wall away from my room. He glances back at me for an answer.

"I don't know," I fib, "Everything was like this when I...got back this morning." I end in a lower voice, since Daryl's outside. Dwight puts the back of his hand under his nose at the smell.

"Davy?" By the tone, I'd take it Dwight isn't convinced that I don't know. I nod my head. "Fuck."

"It's fine," I claim, "It could have been worse."

"Where are you going?"

"To the incinerator." I try to move past him.

"You're gonna incinerate your blankets? Just wash them."

"No, let me by, please."

"Nan-"

"Please." My voice is borderline trembling. Dwight moves.

The guys at the incinerator collectively cover their noses at the urine smell when I get down to incinerating room that's past the cells and in a sort of basement. Keller asks me what happened and I pretend that they aren't my blankets and that I don't know.

"Someone just handed them to me and asked me to burn them."

"Well, shit, that's a fuckin' waste of a luxury." He inspects the quality of the blankets without touching them. "These are nice. Look like they would've cost a pretty penny."

I shrug. "I guess they just didn't want them." Keller looks at me with a raised brow.

"Well, these can be bleached and used again, so we're not charring these." Fuck!

Keller tells me to come with him after we're done burning everything and he takes myself and the bedding that's been put into a bin to the laundry room. He hands the bin to a worker and tells her to wash and bleach the bedding. I feel bad, because I know how harsh bleach can be on skin.

"I heard what happened between you and Davy yesterday." Keller says as he leans against the wall outside. I lower my eyes to imply that I don't want to talk about it. "Asshole probably got what was coming to him. Good thing there were others to step in though, huh?" I nod. Keller's a man who looks to be in his early forties. He's a straightforward kind of person, but tends to be on the stoic side of things. The little time I've spent with him, I fully expected him to tell me to cut the shit and just own to the blankets being mine. However, he's followed my charade that I am almost certain he's aware of. After a few minutes of silence, Keller goes back into the room and brings the freshly washed linens out. "You want these?"

"What?"

"Whoever was gonna toss these was an idiot for letting a little piss bother them." Keller hands me the bedding with a causal expression. "Gotta be tougher than that."

"Thanks." I take the bedding like it's new to me.

"Whatever." He retorts as he walks off.

On my way to my room, I spy Hal walking back to the quarters from the mechanic's yard. I beeline it for him. "Hal!" He turns his head in the direction of my voice and as soon as he sees me, he smiles.

"Hey, Gorgeous." He stops so I can catch up. "How's it goin?" _Do I dare tell him the truth?_

"I slugged Davy yesterday, so he pissed on my blankets and tossed my room." _I do._ I expect Hal to chide me for doing something so dumb, but he laughs instead. "What? No disapproving glances?"

"Who could disapprove of Davy gettin' what he rightfully deserves?" He chuckles.

"Wanna come up and talk? I haven't seen you in four days." I miss not being Hal's neighbor and not getting to see him everyday. I more so miss the content silence that passes between us as well as the "family meals" we had.

"Yeah, sure."

Hal and I straighten up my room while talking. He informs me of what he did today in the mechanic's yard and I listen with ease at the trivial details. I tell him about Solara and how she loves to play multiple rounds of marry, kiss, cliff as well as prattle on about nonsensical things. I also choose to tell him about the Negan incident from the other day. Hal doesn't laugh at that.

"Nan! Have you lost your marbles?" He stares at me while re-securing the clothesline.

I shrug my shoulders. "I didn't yell at him, okay, I raised my voice."

"Same difference!" Hal scoffs. "Your lucky he's a bit sweet on you, or you'd be kissing the ugly end of Lucille. "

"What?" I halt from rearranging my items into my trunk. "Now you've lost your marbles, 35."

"Don't call me by my number, Savior scum!" We both laugh and a knock at the door makes us turn our heads. I walk over and answer it. To my surprise, it's Laura. She peers into the room and sees Hal, who turns his attention back to the clothesline.

"Hi." She says to me.

"Hi." I shyly respond.

"Um, I was just seeing if you were in one piece still, after what happened yesterday."

"Oh, yeah I'm fine...thanks." I give a weak smile at her inquiring face.

"Well, I saw the looks of this place this morning and you weren't in it, so I thought you were either dead, or elsewhere." Her words aren't suggestive, but I flinch internally as I see Hal look over through the side of my eye.

"Yeah, I um, hit the showers. It must've happened when I was gone."

"Lucky you," She smirks, "If it's any consolation, I think he's gotten over it. Sort of evening things out, this." Her finger circles the room.

"Oh, good." I reply bitterly.

"Well, I was just wondering if you want to hang out later."

"Okay. When?"

"An hour?"

"Sure."

"Cool. I'll just come back then." She cranes her head in to look at Hal. "How's it goin' handsome?" Hal's eyebrows crinkle in confusion, which makes Laura snicker as she strides away. I turn to him with an ornery grin.

"What?" Hal scoffs.

"She called you 'handsome.'" I tease leaning against the wall.

"Is that really a surprise to you?" He smiles. "I'm quite fetching, thank you very much."

"Yeah, but I just don't like another woman telling you that you're handsome." I joke.

"Jealous?"

"Definitely." We both laugh.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, love, but we are Platonic."

"How will I bare such heartbreak?" I put my hands over my heart.

"Not my problem." Hal laughs and then his smile dampens a bit. "Where were you really when Davy did this?" His eyes are serious.

I sigh heavily and decide that he may not like the answer, but he's my friend and should know the truth that he's already suspecting. "I was in Dwight's room."

Hal looks at the floor and nods. "Oh."

"It just...happened. It's nothing seri-" I stop when he rasies a hand.

"So long as he's good to you, " He steps towards the door, "I have nothing to say."

"We're not in a relationship, Hal." I huff; amused at him thinking Dwight and I are a couple.

"Doesn't matter. You're an adult and it's not my business." Hal affirms. "I better go, if I want to shower tonight."

"Wait," I reach into my pants pocket and delicately grab the broken ring, "You're a whiz at fixing stuff, yeah?"

"So I've been told, why?" Hal steps forward to see what I have.

"This got broken and I was thinking you might be able to repair it." I gingerly place the locket ring in his hand. "Think you can?" I ask hopefully.

"I can try." He answers, looking at the pictures inside. _Please don't ask._ "Doesn't look that bad."

"Thanks, Hal." I pat his arm. I trust him to keep it on the down low; I don't want anyone to know I have it. Negan's the only one beside Hal, now, who's seen it and that still makes me uneasy. He gives me a quick hug before exiting.

Just as soon as Hal leaves, Dwight knocks on the already opened door. "Hey."

I hang the sheets on the line. "Hi." I'm wondering if he'll mention passing Hal in the hallway.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted help cleaning up, but looks like you got a handle on it." Dwight glances at the splayed out sheets. "You didn't toss 'em."

"No, Keller said it would be wasteful."

"He's right. It would've." Dwight's eyes travel over me and then to the floor.

"Laura invited me to hang out later. You want to join us?" I mess with the blanket to make sure it's all the way out.

"I got some stuff I gotta do, so I'll take a rain check."

"Okay." I begin to fold my clothes so that I can stack them on my trunk since the sheets and blanket take up the line. "See ya around." Dwight grins and then walks off without another word.

Half an hour later, I have another visitor. I'm suddenly popular and it's annoying. There's a loud, metallic knock on the doorframe that makes me jump up from my mattress. I was lying on it just to waste time. My head whips to the doorway and to my horror, see Negan's tall figure in the frame. Lucille's resting on the side, which let's me know that's what was knocking.

"Jesus, calm your tits, sweetheart," He chuckles, "It's only me." _Yeah, that's why I'm nervous._ I'm stuck between thinking to kneel and not knowing if I should. I'm still weary on how to address His Royal Highness, the Dick of the New World. "When someone speaks to you, generally the polite thing to do is to talk back."

I clear the lump in my throat. "Do you need me to do something?" Is all I think to say.

"Nope. I was just thinkin' about you on my way back up top. Haven't seen you since our little quarrel the other day." It wasn't a quarrel. _I fearfully raised my voice at you and you dragged me to my room like a rag doll._

"I'm fine." I answer thinking, I touch my bruised arm. _Bastard._

"You certainly are," He laughs as he just enters my room, "so much so, that you gave Davy a fucking knuckle sandwich, I heard. I woulda loved to have seen that!" How many people more are going to bring that up? "Where's that vase I gave you?" Negan wanders over to the trunk, twirling Lucille once. "I thought I said you should display it to brighten things up."

"I did. You broke it when you dumped my trunk." I cringe at the flat out blame in my tone. Negan looks over at me and turns on his heel. _Did you learn nothing last time?_

"That's a _damn_ shame. 'Cause this room looks like the inside of a fuckin' pine box." Excuse me for not adorning my living space with plundered decor. Negan struts over to me and his eyes find interest in something. "Something wrong with your arm?" _Nothing gets passed you, does it?_

"No." I lie wanting to drop my hand to remove suspicion, but knowing well he'll see the bruises. _Let him see._ Not like he'll care. I casually drop the hand and turn around to make myself look busy. He stops me halfway by taking my arm the same way he did before, but only a little softer. Negan lifts his fingers up that reveal the bruised outline from the other day.

He sighs irritably. "Ah, hell, sweetheart I didn't..." Negan lets my arm go and I pull it back to me. "I didn't mean to do that."

"It's fine." I murmur. Isn't that what they all say? _Men like him "never" mean to hurt you._ His ungloved hand runs over his beard.

"It's not fine," he corrects, "I'm...sorry." If I weren't so on edge right now, my jaw would've dropped _. He just apologized._ Is he even capable of remorse? "Can you forgive me?"

"Okay." I croak still stunned. _He asked for your forgiveness._ What the hell is going on? A hand reaches out and two fingers hold me under my chin, which makes me want to recoil, but I don't. With no warning, Negan's scruff grazes me as his lips touch my forehead. I look up at him and his eyes seem as though they might pierce through me. He leans down and I can feel his lips on mine when I put my hands to his chest, stepping back from him. Negan looks down at me, his eyes searching my face.

"Huh." He grunts with his tongue in cheek.

"I...um, forgive you." I nervously state while scratching the back of my hand, looking at the floor. _Whatever will make you go away._ Negan raises his brows to this forehead and like magic, his smile materializes.

"Well, now I'll fuckin' sleep better at night." He throatily laughs. And just like that, he's back to his smartassery. "Have a fantastic rest of your day, Nan. I have some fucking business to discuss with the wives. Get It?" Negan laughs again and makes his exit

I exhale sharply as he goes. _What the fuck, what the fuck?!_ Negan tried to kiss me! There's no misconstruing what just almost happened, in fact, he practically did. And he apologized for bruising me. _Good, he should feel bad._ He appeared to be genuinely sorry. That seems out of character for him. The obnoxious psychopath who can turn dark in nothing flat that I'm use to seeing. Negan's apology and attempt to kiss me flipped my on my head, but I also can't help but think of the quick getaway that was made to appear unfazed by rejection as the cherry on top. I stand corrected; _that_ was the weirdest encounter I've had with that man. " _He's a bit sweet on you."_ Hal's words make me rub my temples. _Fucking business, ha-ha._

"You okay?" Laura startles me and I sit up straight. "Whoa, didn't mean to scare, ya!" She grins. My eyes spot the bottle of tequila.

"What are we playing?" I eagerly get up from the bed.

"Truth, or dare?" Laura while writing on her Yatzee card. I'm a little perturbed that we aren't playing a game that'll get me drunk faster.

"Truth."

"Have you ever been with that guy that was in your room?" Her question makes me laugh.

"Hal? No, we're friends."

"Friends with benefits?"

"No, just friends." _Dwight's that kind of that friend._ I blink twice to shake the thought of Dwight. The whole Negan thing has me flustered and I don't want to think of either men. Laura tips back a shot since I answered the question.

"Your turn."

"Um, truth, or dare?" I say while shooting the dice. _Shit._ I hate Yatzee.

"Truth." Laura answers.

"Uh..." I don't really have anything I want to know about Laura. I don't even know why I accepted to hang out with her. It isn't Laura, it's me; I'm not a sociable creature. "Why did you want to know if I was involved with Hal?"

"Cause I think he's hot and I didn't want to step on toes, if I decide to make a move." The girl has confidence; I'll give her that.

"Oh, well...my toes are out of the way." I jot down the score and then take a shot. I'm humored at the thought of Laura hitting on Hal.

"Truth, or dare?"

"Truth." I'm planning on sticking with truth because I'm afraid she'll dare me to do something that only a well-seasoned, asshole of a Savior would be willing to do.

"How many people have you slept with?"

My cheeks redden. "Um, like relationships or..."

"Nope, just overall. No judgment."

"Um, maybe fifteen," I shrug, "Most were just guys I met at bars, parties, or in college. Nothing concrete."

"You said you had a boyfriend before." She presses.

"Yeah, I've only had three relationships. Two guys and a girl."

"Really?" Laura perks up. "You like girls?"

"I like people." I reply. "Truth, or dare?" I want to get out off the subject before it gets too heavy.

"Truth." Laura downs the shot she has to take for me answering the questions.

 _Don't you dare ask._ "Do you like Dwight?" _Son of a bitch!_

Laura chuckles under her breath and looks down at the dice. "Yeah, but I don't think he's interested. I'm not the subtlest person and he's not as moronic as some other pricks I could name. If he's aware, D's just not into me, I guess. No hard feelings, though." She smiles. "Truth, or dare?"

I have the impulse to choose dare, because I know what the next question will be. "Truth." _Damn it._

"All the fuckin' chitchat aside...it is true?" She raises a brow. I only have myself to blame for bringing Dwight into this first.

"What do you mean?" My false naivety does not sound convincing.

"Did you screw Dwight so you could take up rank as a Savior?"

"No, I didn't." I shoot the dice while she shoots more tequila. So much for not wanting to think about him.

"I didn't think so," Laura scratches her nose ring, "I figured it was because you look the 'damsel in distress' type and people just assume that women need saving. Anyway they can get it." Although I'll admit, I'm not a warrior queen, I resent the damsel in distress comment.

"Everyone needs saving." I mutter. In some form or another, I'm sure.

"Yeah," Laura scoffs, "The best choice you can make in this world is to save yourself." I look at her as she takes another shot. She wiggles her nose as if to shake something off.

"How come?" I don't know why I inquire more on the subject that looks like it bothers her.

"Cause sometimes that's the only person worth saving," She pours us both shots, "The only person who deserves your care and kindness." I nod mildly and we both shoot back the tequila. "Is that a tattoo?"

I lift my left arm and reveal the tattoo under the upper half. "Yeah. It's Georgia O'Keefe's Pink Sweet Peas."

"It looks like more than a flower." We both chuckle.

"I got it when I was in college. I like it, but it was little pretentious of me." God, I thought I was so sophisticated in school.

"It's pretty." Laura leans over to look at it. "Any more?"

"Three."

"Can I see? I'll show you mine, if you show me yours?"

I start to stand up so I can lift off my shirt, when Dwight walks by the open door and I freeze. "Um, how about later? My head's swimming. I should go to bed."

"Yeah, me too," She wobbles as she gets up from her chair, "Next time?"

"Sure." I smile faintly.

I feel like a baby deer, trying to stay on my feet as I take steps down the hall. Dwight's room is only so far, but it seems like it'll take an eternity to get there. _Go to your room and go to bed._ When I finally reach his door, I steady myself on it and weakly knock.

"Yeah?" He sounds mad.

"Can I come in?" I think I may have fumbled my words, but I'm not drunk. Just on the tip of being tipsy.

"It's open." Dwight answers back after a few seconds. I turn the knob and stumble a little as I enter. Dwight's sitting in the armchair with his head hanging and his fingers raked through his hair. What's wrong?

"Is it a bad time?" I ask low.

"No, it's fine." _He's not fine._

"Something happen?" I close the door behind me and lean on it.

"I said it's fine. I'm fine." Lie.

"Is it her?" It might be the tequila that made me ask such an off limits kind of question.

"No." The way Dwight mildly snaps out that answer confirms that it is about Sherry. _Don't press further._

I walk forward a little. "Did you talk to her?" I recall that day they were smoking in the stairwell.

"Nan." He looks up at me with a sort of face that is telling me to drop it. _And so you should._

"It's okay to talk about it, if you want." Talk about being out of character.

"There isn't anything to talk about."

"She's your wife."

"No, she's not!" His loud response makes me jump. I spot two beer bottles on the floor by the armchair. One's empty and the other's half away there.

"I'm sorry," I tuck a strand of hair timidly behind my ear, "I didn't mean to upset you, I just...I'm sorry, D." Dwight sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"I don't know what I was thinking with you." His words feel like a spur to the side of the ribs.

"What?" I croak with a raw throat.

"I thought I could distract myself with you, but now I'm not so sure that I can." Dwight keeps his head down and puts his hands together. "It just doesn't feel right, you know?"

"Am I that bad in bed?" I scoff, tears welling up. _Don't cry._

"It's not that, it's-"

"Is this about Negan?" You could hear a pin drop after that incredibility stupid thing I just said. _You idiot, how could he know about that?_

"What about Negan?" He asks severely.

"Just forget it," _Time to high tail it the fuck out of here_ , "I'll just go then and maybe we can be friends still, but I guess, uh...like without the distraction." I bitterly laugh out the last part of that sentence, trying to not let the hot tears escape. This is a total 180 from this morning. When I open the door, Dwight's hand reaches over me and shuts it.

"What about Negan?" He repeats more firmly. I don't turn around to face him.

"He came to my room today and-"

"And? And what?"

"He apologized about my arm and, um..."

"And what?"

"Stop interrupting me!" I spin to look at him and feel the tipsiness, so I lean on the door while trying to marble out my features. "He tried to kiss me, I think, but I backed away."

Dwight's eyes dart across my face calmly, but angrily. I start to feel that heightened feeling like I had the other night, but also a gut-wrenching, windless pang in my stomach. _Hurting another person shouldn't make you feel good._ I turn my head slightly to the door. This day needs to end.

"Can you take your hand from the door so I can go now?" I coldly look up at him. Dwight's hand still is pressed to the door. "D?" He moves it and I open the door and leave.

I make it a few feet before I feel a warm hand wrap around my wrist. As I turn to tell him to let me go, he brings his lip down on mine and a hand touches my lower back. His other hand drops my wrist and rest itself on my right ribs. I push myself out of it, or at least from the kiss.

"I think I should go." I breathlessly sneer. "So, you can have a clearer conscience."

"Come back inside." Dwight retorts and as he does, footsteps can be heard around the corner. I look over his shoulder and see two people down the end of the hall approaching us. They look a little surprised at the two of us in the hall together and my face starts to warm up. I free myself and walk into his room, since I know that those Saviors live closer to me and I don't want them trailing behind every step of the way. Fuck!

Dwight closes the door and I want to slap him. _It's not like he planned on them showing up._ Now, my dirty laundry is officially out on the line to dry. I glance over at him while grasping my own hands. He closes the gap between us and resumes to kiss me. I don't return the favor, initially, but eventually I weakly haul myself to him with my hands, deepening the kiss. He's such an asshole.

He steps forward, so I go backwards to the bed and remove my shirt over head on the way. Dwight moves down to my neck and I tilt my head back. As he moves down to my décolleté, I scramble to get my bra off. I sit down on the edge of the bed and Dwight follows me, continuing to my breasts. A whimpered 'oh!' escapes my mouth as he takes one into his mouth. His fingers unbutton my pants and slide them down. I kick off my shoes and move my legs out of my jeans and panties. Dwight gets onto his knees by the bed and runs his hands down the length of the back of my thighs. My breathing hitches even more as he parts my legs. A sharp gasp runs from my opened mouth as his tongue lightly touches my clit. I comb a hand into his hair and it encourages him to carry on. His mouth has rhythm and is so precise that I can already start to feel a winding sensation coiling inside of me. I grip the sheets with both hands and arch my back at the disgustingly good feeling pitting my stomach. Dwight picks up the pace, holding my thighs, which makes me climb nearer and nearer to the edge.

"Dwight!" I mewl before I'm speechless from coming hard. _Whoa, baby._ My legs quake with each continuous stroke and as I come down and pant from the sustained breathing, Dwight gets out from between my legs. I watch with flushed cheeks and a heavy breath as he hastily pulls off his clothes. He extends his hand to me and pulls me up from the bed and guides me to the chair.

We move behind it and he grabs my middle and kisses me. I reach down between us and feel his half hard erection. He groans in my mouth when I begin to stroke him steadily. As soon as he gets there, Dwight turns me around and bends me over the back of the chair. I feel his hands grasp my waist before he slides himself into me. We both moan simultaneously when he does and he starts to thrust into me after a few seconds. I dig my bitten down nails into the armchair with every deep drive. "Harder!" I beg. Dwight speeds up his rhythm and causes another orgasm. I clench around him, which makes him groan breathily. He pumps into me a few more times before pulling from me with a sharp grunt. There's a warm trickle of semen running down the back of my legs.

"Oh fuck!" Dwight's tone makes me push myself up and look over my shoulder. "I think I just-" He puts both hands through his hair while his eyes transfix down by my legs. I stand up and turn to him.

"What?"

"Did you feel it?" His tone is panic.

"Feel what?" I furrow my brows at his face that looks like it's calculating.

"Did you feel any of it inside you?" Oh. Oh!

I feel the back of my legs, self-consciously. "No. Well, I mean I think I felt a twitch, but you pulled out in time."

"You're sure?"

I move take the nearest thing I can find and clean it off of me. "Yeah, I'm sure." I grab up my underwear to put them back on. I can't help but be a little angered by his tone.

"How sure? It doesn't look like all of it's on the outside."

"According to past data?" I scoff as I pull my shirt over my head, " This isn't my first time. I know when the pull out method doesn't seem like a flawless ten." _This goddamn pin is tangled in my hair!_ Dwight lets out a sigh that only pisses me of more.

"Where are you going?" Dwight asks when I reach for my pants.

"To my room." I sound uncertain for some reason.

"Why don't you stay?" He pulls his boxers on and grabs a lighter from a shelf.

"Maybe because you just told me a minute ago that fucking me didn't feel right and then fucked me anyway; only to flip out, just now."

"You can hardly blame me for panicking." He opens a drawer and rifles through it.

"Yeah, well it kinda makes me feel like a piece of meat." I snap.

"I didn't mean for it sound that way," Dwight looks over at me with uneasy expression, "Sorry."

"Whatever. Can I have one?" I point to the rolled cigarette.

"It's not a cigarette," He looks down at it, "It's a joint. Some guys from one of the outposts grow it." Unbelievable. Nice to know that while other communities are struggling with crops that'll feed the Saviors more than it ever will the growers, the Saviors have enough carefree leisure to grow pot.

"I don't mind," I clear my throat, "Better for you than tobacco and nicotine, I hear." _Go back to your room!_ Dwight lights it in his mouth and then takes it away with his fingers to hand it to me. I take it and bring it up to my lips for a quick drag. Dwight has a seat on the bed next to me and I scoot away a smidge. He takes the spliff from me.

"I'm sorry." He exhales the smoke from his nose. I push myself up on the bed to stand so I can open the window a bit. I could use some fresh air.

"Yeah, you said that already" I reply, taking in the air that wisps in gently from the small rectangle window.

"I'm not good with this sort of thing, alright?" He finds his shirt to put it back on. The chilly outside air plus the overbearing coldness of the factory make the room feel like an icebox.

"I can tell." I take the joint from his offering hand.

"You said no strings attached like it was as simple as that." He scoffs.

"It is simple, D," I blow the smoke out the window, "Sex is just sex, if you don't love the person you're with." My thoughts flutter off as I bite my thumbnail. _She never loved you like she said she did_. "Just a pass time between consenting adults."

"Well, I never really had sex that was just sex." His admission puzzles me and I look down at him when I give the joint back. "I got married not long after high school," Dwight clears his throat, " I loved the person I was with."

"Sherry?" It feels wrong to say her name.

"Yeah," Dwight looks down at the hand with the spliff resting on his knee, "She wasn't my first, but I thought..."

"She'd be the last?"

"Yes." My chest burns at the horrible circumstances that ended that dream.

"You never had any one night stands?"

"Nope...close the window."

I pull the window closed by the latch and sink down the wall onto a spot on the bed. "If you don't want to be with me anymore then just say so. I won't take it to heart."

"That's the thing, Nan," Dwight takes a final drag before putting the butt out on the floor, "I like being with you. I like you, but I wish I didn't."

"You don't know me." I reason. Dwight and I may have spent the past few weeks together, but we're enigmatic to each other. The times that we where had sex are fewer than the times I spent trailing him like an intern. And truth be told, the sex was impersonal. Just letting out pent up urges that maybe could have been satisfied by others. We know nothing about one another. I know more about him than he does me, but even that seems like just the surface.

"No, you're right, I don't."

I crawl over near him and sit on my knees. "You pulled out in time," I then in a awkward attempt to be soothing, put a hand on his leg, "I promise." I pat it twice for good measure.

Dwight dryly snickers. "I didn't mean to be an asshole about it."

"I understand." If Dwight thought he'd be with Sherry til death do them part, then he probably didn't imagine fearing that he accidentally got some side piece pregnant, while his ex-wife is married to the man who almost killed him. _Don't talk about yourself like that_. It is what it is in this situation. "So, are we done?"

Dwight shakes his head. "Not if you don't want to."

"What do you want?" I ask him, tucking a shiny blonde strand behind his scarred ear. Part of me wishes he would sever this artery now. _Lights out for this fuckery_. Another part of me resonates with what he said. Whether I would openly confess to it or not, I like being around him. I don't know why, but I just do and it makes my stomach hurt.

"I want to be friends." He answers. A leap in my chest both delights and sickens me. _You pathetic soul._

"Like Laura or Hal?"

Dwight's eyes meet mine. "No."


	15. A Crack In My Own Marble Wall

**Self Preservation:** (n); preservation of oneself from harm or destruction.

* * *

The room is nearly dark when I open my eyes. A faint bluish light flits across the wall I'm facing and I know it's Dwight's T.V. After the weary conversation we had, Dwight left to go to the bathroom and I must have fallen sleep before he got back. I turn over to see him sitting in his chair, carving away at some wood. He's really focused and doesn't seem to notice that I've been watching him for the past few minutes; trying to make out what it is he's carving. My eyes wander the room aimlessly. According to the clock on the wall, it's only four o'six in the morning. My gaze slowly traipses around the room some more, until they land on the chest set that's half a foot away from the bed. Looking more closely at the figures on the board gives me an answer to what Dwight is working at with his knife. The little wooden, hand-carved people resemble pieces of the game.

"Sorry, if I woke you," Dwight's sudden voice cause my eyes to blink over to him, "I tried to keep the volume down." I'm silent for a few minutes as I study his unflinching gaze on me.

"I woke up on my own." I sit up and realize that he never laid down whenever he got back from the bathroom. "I should go." I take one of the bobby pins from the floor and pin some hair out my face.

"Why?" He asks hoarsely. I look over at the T.V. and don't recognize the show that he's watching, but I think that one guy is Tony Danza.

"I don't want you to not sleep, because you don't want to sleep here with me." I try to be understanding since our talk last night, although he did lie next to me in my room. Maybe it's different because it's his bed. People are strange that way.

"It's not you, I'm just not tired."

"You have to be," I reason, "You didn't sleep the night before either. It's okay to tell me to leave, if you need to sleep." It's something that would've hurt my feelings when I was eighteen, but being a twenty-seven year old who now has her sea legs in such matters, it doesn't bother me anymore. It's good to give someone their space and be able to have my own.

Dwight sighs before he puts down his knife and project, and then gets up from the chair. I quizzically observe him as he goes over to the television and shuts it off. I take it as a hint that he's going to lie down and that I should get going. However, I start to get up as he undoes his pants and am stopped by him putting up a hand in pause. "Don't get up." He approaches the bed, lifting the blanket to get under it, which makes me slide over. The formally vacant part of the bed is cold, but I ignore the chilliness to watch him settle in. I can see the uneasiness from his body language and face expression. I begin to climb over him to get off the bed. Dwight's cold hand touches my side; goose bumps whip across my flesh. "What are you doing?"

"You're clearly uncomfortable, " I smile faintly, but with sympathy, "I can go, D, really it's okay." His other hand takes my arm gently.

"Stay."

I retract my previous motion and lay back down. Dwight shifts to his side with his back facing me. I stare at the back of him for a few minutes, deliberating his actions. After a few minutes, I inch over to him. The mattress is only a full; so it doesn't take me long to stir close enough until I spoon him. I know it might be overstepping the unwritten terms of our 'no strings attached' agreement, but I want to insure that he won't try to leave as soon as I go back to sleep. I'm not a terribly heavy sleeper, so I'll wake up if he attempts to escape. When he doesn't shrug me away, I count to five in my head, at least three times, before braving my arm over him which doesn't spook him either.

His scent engulfs me and I can feel myself start to drift off easily. With my eyes closed, I ask a question that could ruin this whole thing. "Did you talk to her yesterday?" There's no response, which should be a clue to not say anything else. "It's not like it's against the rules." At least, I don't think it is. The only rules that Negan's wives have, that I'm aware enough, are total "devotion" to their creep of a husband which isn't entirely far off from what's expected from the Saviors, although I guess we're not required to be sexually available to him. And that they be faithful to him and abandon any previous relationships. How could he take offense to Dwight and Sherry just talking?

"Yeah, I talked to her." He finally answers.

I wait awhile to reply. "Is she okay?" She's probably more well off than any other person here, along with Negan and his other wives. The wives get top notch everything and never have to scrape by for food, necessities, or medicine. I ask anyways as a sort of courtesy.

"She's fine. He treats her good, that's what's important." Dwight's tone is pale.

"That's good," My response sounds dim, "So, why were you upset?" Anyone with a penny's worth of sense can figure out why he was upset, but his topsy-turvy mood yesterday makes me wonder if something happened during their meeting that resulted in me getting the brunt of it all.

"She asked me about the rumors," He answers, "I told her truth and she seemed upset, so I asked her if it bothered her." Dwight pauses for a minute, making me nervous. "She asked me why I thought she'd care, since we're not together anymore." Ouch.

"Oh," I half-whisper, opening my eyes. It seems to me that Sherry may have only said that to hurt Dwight, because she was upset. I can't walk around high and mighty, pretending I haven't said something that I knew would hurt someone else to help cope with my own pain. "That why you wanted to end things?"

"Yeah," Dwight admits.

"Why didn't you? When I left, all you had to do was close the door." The room is still for ages before he sighs.

"I changed my mind."

"Did it have anything to do with what I told you about Negan?"

"Kind of." Dwight exhales. His answer disappoints me.

"I'm a person, not a possession, D," My arm recoils from it's place under his and I close my eyes again.

 _"Fuck!" I quickly grab up my sweater and yank it over my head._

 _"What's wrong?" She props her head up with her hand._

 _"I didn't realize the time!" I wiggle into my jeans chaotically. "I'm suppose to meet Charlie for a movie a few blocks away."_

 _She snorts at me. "My goodness, Corazon, this Charlie must be quite the guy to have you in such a frenzy, huh?" She gets up from the bed, fully naked, and goes into her bathroom._

 _"Jealous?" I use her hair brush to swipe through my hair._

 _"Nunca." She walks out of the bathroom in a short, silk bathrobe. She comes up behind me and looks at my reflection in the mirror. "You should put your hair up in a twist, I'll help you." She pulls out some pins from a painted bowl on the dresser below the mirror. I look in the mirror like I'm turning back into Henry Jekyll. "So pretty." She mindlessly notes._

 _"My mom likes him," I watch her refection in the mirror for a reaction. "You know what a feat that is."_

 _"Would she like him still, if she knew that the two of you fucked in his truck on the first date?" She asks with a raised brow, undistracted from working on my hair. "What a gentleman."_

 _"She doesn't need to know, because it's none of her business." I pick at the skin around me thumb._

 _"Stop doing that," She chides, "It's bad for your cuticles."_

 _"I like him." I wipe some smeared mascara from under my eyes. "Maybe beter than you." She looks up at me in the mirror as she puts the last pin in my hair. She then rest her chin in the crook of my neck and wrap her arms around me._

 _She kisses my shoulder. "Don't forget your purse and shoes."_

Dwight's asleep when I awake up, two hours later. I managed not to wake him up with my flinching, so I slink carefully out of the bed. I get dressed as silently as possible, not wanting to wake him. I have a notion that says he really needs some sleep. Before leaving, I reach over and nick one of his chess pieces.

I look it over on my way to my room. It's a little soldier that I suppose could be used as pawn. When I get into my room, I move under the line to get some breakfast and stop at the sight of something on my trunk. It's a vase that has some wildflowers in it. The flowers grow a little ways outside of the Sanctuary; I've seen them on control burns and that time we went to Alexandria. _Negan._ I move the bouquet aside to get out my peanut butter and a spoon. Davy destroyed my jar of jam and all my crackers, so I plan on eating straight from the jar. While eating the smooth contents of the jar, I glance over at the vase. It's about thirteen inches in length and cylinder- shaped ceramic. It's glazed white with inky black speckles dashed all around it. I actually like it better than the first one, but it doesn't mean I'm grateful. _You can't just man handle someone and then give them flowers to make up for it._

* * *

"Aw, did you bring me flowers?" Solara cackles as I walk up to the gates. I decided to keep the vase in the slight chance that tossing it over the fence would put me in hot water. With my best heave, I chuck the flowers over the fence and almost all of them make it over. Solara's left brow rises in bewilderment, but she doesn't ask questions. I smile blandly at her and take my post. "So, I hear that Simon's sending a truck back here," Solara pulls out a cigarette and lighter, "It'll leave from Hilltop right after it collects."

"Hilltop is another community?" I ask. I know we take from other communities, but I have no clue how many or where they're at with the exception of the Alexandria Safe-Zone.

"Yeah," She takes a drag and exhales the smoke with more words, "Simon was told to take some people over to the empty outpost and restore things up, and then go over to the local communities to rake in what's owed."

"Why was the outpost empty?"

"'Cause those people killed them all and the scouts in a rendezvous point." Solara sounds so nonchalant about the apparent deaths of her fellow Saviors.

"Which people?" I inquire further. _Oh, wait...does she mean-_

"Those people who they herded into that clearing a few weeks ago. His people." Solara points over to the entrance with her cigarette finger. I look over to see Daryl being brought down by Fat Joey. "Negan was only gonna kill one of them, but Arat told me that he got up and punched Negan across the face, so Negan had to kill someone else."

"Got up?" My chest begins to constrict.

"Yeah, they were on their knees. He got out of line when they were all told not to. D offered to kill him, but Negan wanted to bring him here." Solara steps on her dropped cigarette and goes to open the gate, as Daryl gets closer. What? _Dwight wanted to kill him?_ He offered; that's what she said.

"There's no burning today, so take him inside when you're done." Fat Joey's command makes me scowl in bewilderment. "D told me to tell you that."

"Where's he at?" I almost want to scream for asking since I just received unwelcome news.

"Busy." Is all Fat Joey informs me with a rude tone of voice. _Jesus, don't have to be so shitty about it._ He hands me a key to the cell and then goes back inside.

At three, I remove Daryl from the fence and we go inside the factory. I stop at the baker's station and take some fresh bread from off the table. It's been awhile since I've been here and I wince at the one-handed baker who struggles to pull bread out of the oven while holding his bandaged stump to his chest to protect it from being burned. When his head turns in my direction, I only hold his gaze for a second or two before treading off with Daryl. When we make to the cells, I glance from side to side. Since there's no one around to tattle, I rip the bread into twos and offer half to Daryl after unlocking the cell. He takes it and sits down in the corner of the room.

"That picture," I look down at the flipped over Polaroid, "He gave it to you because that's the person that was killed because you hit Negan." Daryl grimaces up at me. He knows whom I'm talking about.

"Yeah." He replies gruffly.

"He wanted to kill you?" _Please say no._

"Yeah." Daryl repeats. I nod despairingly. "You his new girl?"

My throat feels raw as I swallow down the lump. I shake my head bleakly. "His friend."

Daryl huffs. "Your friend killed mine," I fight back tears. _God, why am I so weak?_ "Bolt right through the eye. She never hurt anyone."

"I have to go. I have work to do." I lie so that I don't have to hear anything more or worse. "Eat it before he comes to check on you." I close the door and lock it. The deadbolt sounds louder than usual. I place the key in my pocket and head to my room with a heavy heart.

 _Why are you so surprised? You've always known he was despicable._ Dwight and I don't know each other; I only know the story of how he came to be a Savior. I guess I just rationalized all the cruelty to be because of how fucked up his life turned and that it was for survival here. But how can I delude myself into thinking he's different from the rest of them? _"One of my top guys!"_ Negan's words clang in my head like a large bell.

When I make it to my corner, I see Hal leaning against the wall with his hands in his hoodie pockets. I rush over to him and he sits up when he sees me coming from down the hallway. I do what I've never initiated before; I hug him. His hand holds the back of my head and I feel a few sneaky tears slip out.

"Rough day?" Hal tries to joke.

"Bad news." I say with my head under his chin. We should probably break it up and move into my room for whatever it is he came to see me for, but I can't move.

"Oh," Hal's tone is depressed sounding, "You heard about Sharon?"

"What?" I push away from him to see his face. "What do you mean? What's wrong with her?" Hal looks away from me.

"She's very ill. She might die."

"Wha- How? I-I just talked to her the other day and she seemed fine." I suddenly recall the conversation we had the other day out front.

"She was pregnant. Nobody knew. She woke up in the middle of the night, screaming bloody murder; all her linens were soiled in blood. We got Carson to come down to the quarters and that's when we found out." Hal looks back at me with sorrow in his beautiful brown eyes. "She had a miscarriage and the doctor thinks she might have an infection, so he gave her some medicine."

"Oh my god...where is she now?" I ask.

"She's in her quarter, now. Reed was informed and he excused her from work." _Oh, how gracious!_ I roll my eyes at that.

"Maybe I should go down and see her." I start to step back from Hal so that I can turn to go the quarters.

"Wait. I don't know if that's a good idea, Nan. People are still cross with you and I don't think you should be near the quarters for awhile."

"But I just want-"

"I'll keep you posted on her condition. How's that sound?" Hal is right. I shouldn't be there, intruding where I don't belong anymore. It's the one place that the workers have for themselves and it's still prowled through by Saviors. I don't want to be like that. _Like Dwight._ Yeah.

"Okay." I scratch my nose ring to distract myself.

"Put out your hand." Hal smiles. I do what he says and he takes something from his pocket. He drops something in my hand and I smile.

"You are the love of my life." Both of us chuckle quietly. My fixed locket ring looks as good as ever.

"It was easy." He says. I hug again and kiss his cheek.

"Thanks, it means more to me than you know."

Hal lightly slugs my arm. "Anything for my mate. Have a good night, I'm gonna go check on Sharon." He walks around me and I turn my body halfway.

"Hey, Hal," He looks over his shoulder, "I know someone who likes you." I mischievous grin spread across my face. Hal laughs and then continues to walk back to the quarters.

* * *

Around eight-thirty, a knock on the door interrupts my dinner, which is just the other half of bread and some turkey chili in a can since I finally got a can opener. I get up from my bed and open the door a crack. It's who I expected; Dwight. "Hi." I acridly greet.

"Hey, did you take one of my pawns?" His question forces a micro smile from me and it makes me angry. I shouldn't feel glad that he's here after what I know. _Ask him about it._ I open the door some more and then walk over to my pants on the floor. I get into the back left pocket and fish out the wooden game pieces.

"I was just admiring it," I hand it to him, "You carved all of them?"

Dwight holds the piece in both hands, turning it slowly. "Yeah."

"It's beautiful." I claim. It is beautiful. I never knew someone with that type of artistic skill. Truth be told, I thought of whittling wood as a dying art.

"My grandpa taught me." Dwight answers with his eyes still on the pawn.

"My grandpa taught me how to bake bread." I timidly say. _Don't. You should be mad at him._ Dwight looks up at me. I sit down on my bed and resume eating my chili. "My grandparents owned a Swedish bakery in Philadelphia. I worked there from fifteen to when the world changed."

"You've only had one job your entire life?" Dwight scoffs humorously. I stifle the urge to chuckle or snicker.

"I went to college to study literature, but I got kicked out in the middle of my junior year. Right after winter break." _Shut your chili hole._

Dwight steps into the room. "How'd you get kicked out?"

"I got arrested in Barcelona," Dwight furrows his brow at me, "I was studying abroad and we spent two weeks there. I got drunk and accidentally didn't pay a tattoo artist who called the authorities after I puked in the front of the shop. I broke the school's code of conduct. Had to come home early and move out from my dorm."

"Wow," Dwight has seat on the other end of the bed, "That's not what I was expecting. I thought you were gonna say you flunked out, or something."

"Nope," I take the last bite of chili and get up to put the can in a crate that I designated for garbage, "It worked out alright; I always had a job at Henricksson's and I went to pastry school. I was...happy." That word sounds like it dove off a cliff. _Time to change the subject._ "Wanna play?"

Dwight glances over at me, puzzled. "What?"

"Chess," I point to the handcrafted pawn in his hand, "You do know how to play, right?"

"I wouldn't have a chess set if I didn't know how to play." He grins.

"I bet I can beat you." I shyly, but playfully smile back at him. "I'm pretty good."

"Yeah, well so am I." Dwight retorts.

"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?" I guile.

"What do you want if you win?"

I pretend to think for a minute, although I already know. "I get to ask you three questions, no objections."

Dwight's eyes drift downward in contemplation. "What do I get if I win?" His eyes look to me.

"Whatever you want, no objections." I raise a brow and smirk. It feels somewhat slimy to put myself on the table like that, but what's the worst that can happen? "Deal or no deal?"

He looks me over. _Take the bait._ He exhales and then puts out a hand. "Deal." I take his hand a little more nervous than I thought I would. Hopefully his confidence is just arrogance and I'll humble him out.

 **...**

"Checkmate." Dwight cockily smiles at me as I face defeat. _God damn it!_ It took him half an hour to beat me, but he did. This is technically the second time he won. The first game took twenty-two minutes and he offered to play best two out of three. I guess I'm not all that hot at chess as I thought. Great, how else am I going to bring up what Daryl and Solara told me without seeming like a nosy Nelly who asks a million questions, but never gives any information of her own?

"Alright, you win, " I can't pretend to not be bummed out about losing, "What do you want?"

"I'll let you know when I find out." Dwight chuckles while taking a sip from his beer. I don't think I ever heard him sound so light-hearted. He's usually so reserved in manner. Kind of like me. "Thought you said you were good?"

"I am," I smile at his teasing, "But the student never beat the teacher." My grandma wanted a challenging opponent, but that doesn't mean she wanted to lose. He chuckles again, like someone without troubles. Something keen weighs on my chest and I forget why I should be angry with him. I get up from the bed where I sat during the game and take the quick tread over to the armchair where he sits.

His eyes watch me as I remove my shirt and straddle him. Dwight's hands explore my back and find their way to the hooks of my bra. "This isn't what I want for winning." He tells me while separating the last hook from the last loop.

"I know," I touch his scarred side, "It's what I want for losing."

 **...**

It's eleven o'clock when we finally go to his bed. It's cold, so I count to five before I ask him if I can lay closer to him. Dwight gives me a soft 'yeah' and I wiggle close enough to lay my head on his chest. I almost shrink back to play it off as an accident, like it just happened while I was adjusting myself near him. But he moves his arm out from under me and awkwardly rests it around me. There's a thick layer of discomfort, but neither of us break away.

"Can I say something?" Dwight finally cuts the silence. I nod against him. He takes my left arm and holds it up, observing the underside. "Your flowers look a bit risque."

I laugh lightly which causes him to snicker under me. "It's an O'Keefe painting. It's sort of an ode to nature and the female anatomy." I huff softly at the snooty perspective I had while getting it done. "I got it when I was twenty. My parents flipped out."

"They didn't like tattoos?" He runs a thumb over the flowers.

"Not one that looked like genitalia," I giggle and roll my eyes, "They were never really happy with anything I did. I wasn't normal in their eyes." _Don't say anything more._

"What was normal?"

"Having a cookie cutter life," It's only fair that I relinquish a little harmless information about me, right? "I was the wayward daughter who they had expectations for that were shattered around the time I got kicked out of school. They never really treated me the same after that."

"People make mistakes." Dwight sighs while putting my arm down. His hand is placed on my elbow.

"Yeah, well, when they picked me up from the airport when I came back from Barcelona, they took me to my dorm to pack. I went to the bathroom down the hall to shower and my parents said they'd start packing. My roommate told them out of "concern" that I was drinking and having anonymous sex with strangers. She also mentioned this girl I was involved with in Spain. She didn't know that they didn't know and told them that she thought this girl was a bad influence on me. When I came back, my mom and dad told me that they thought they raised a more mature and mindful young lady."

Dwight chuckles. "Instead, they raised a girl who knows when the pull out method isn't a flawless ten?"

I smile. "A girl who doesn't believe in double standards. They never pried into my brother's sex life."

"So, they ostracized you?" Dwight seems genuinely interested. Stop the conversation.

"Well, they said they didn't, but I certainly felt that way. Every time I tried to explain to them how they made me feel; I got accused of trying to make them out to be bad parents, or playing the victim." I feel tears start to make their way up to the surface. "I just wanted them to love me the way they did before; to love me without condition. Instead of making passive aggressive remarks, or nit-picking at my life."

"You said you were happy, though." Dwight brushes his thumb against my arm as if to soothe me. My breathing falters in my chest.

"I was," I try to ignore the ache between my legs, "My grandparents helped me get back on my feet. Like I said; I went to pastry school, moved into a studio, worked at their bakery...it made me happy."

"Did you...have anyone?" His question sticks me in the ribs, unbeknownst to him.

"I have three others." I avoid answering. I sit up and face him on my knees. Dwight's eyes scan my face, so I get on top of him to divert the attention away. "I got this one after I graduated pastry school." I point to the little whisk that's etched on my left ribs.

"You got the flowers in Barcelona?" He asks while touching a finger to the whisk.

"No, I got that one a few months before."

"Which one caused all the trouble?" His hand rests on my leg.

I point to the butterfly spread out above my right knee. "Luctor et emergo," I read the Latin phrase below it, " I struggle and emerge." He tentatively touches that one, too.

"What about the one on the inside of your ankle?" Dwight lets his hand resume down my folded leg.

"I didn't think you saw that one."

"I didn't until last night." He fights a side grin in vain. I run a hand up his chest.

"I lost a bet and made good on it." The tattoo is just a simple red heart. I lucked out in him not picking something awful; I didn't even know what it was until it was done. _"I'm a man of mercy."_

"What was the bet?" This question spurns me, too.

"What about your tattoos?" I note the ones under both his arms.

"Answer my question, first." Dwight stops my hand from trying to distract him. _Shit._

"It was how long I could go without stepping out for a smoke break at my parent's house one Thanksgiving." I wasn't a smoker, but they didn't know that. He had both regular cigarettes and marijuana in his pack; I would borrow whichever according to how stressful things were. If I had just kept refilling my mimosa flute, I would've gotten scolded for drinking too much. "I lost."

"Who won?"

I climb off of him since I know he's on to my little ruse. "I'm tired," I lay back down with my back turned, "we can talk more in the morning."

"Well, at least I know when it comes to a bet, you're a women of your word." Dwight's diffused response makes a faint smile creak across my face as I close my eyes.

In the morning, I try to sneak out again, but Dwight's lying awake next to me. I don't think he slept. We don't bring up last night's conversation. Instead, we just eat breakfast in near silence.

* * *

The two days that follow are relatively normal . I don't see Hal anywhere, but I go to Carson directly and inquire about Sharon. According to the good doctor, she should be fine in a week, or so. He takes me by surprise when he sheds some light on how she's able to afford the medicine that's saving her.

"Negan is letting her have the medicine with understanding that she will have to work it off." He explains. _That's...nice of him._ Usually the rules are pretty clear about that sort of thing. If you don't have the points, you don't get the medicine, or whatever else you need. I wonder why he's being so generous? Carson told me that other workers are not to know about the exception. I swear not to say anything, especially since none of them will talk me anyway.

Work, both at the gates and control burning goes smoothly. Dwight usually brings Daryl out mid morning and despite what I learned the other day, my heart still beats faster whenever I see him draw near. Aside from Hal, he's the only person whom I'm content being around. We can pass time together in comfortable silence. When we get back from control burning, I find him leaning his arms against the yellow railing by the entrance, smoking. He's staring out at the dead and although, I'm sure he sees me coming, he doesn't acknowledge me until I speak.

"Figured out what you want from me yet?" I ask for the sake of saying something. Dwight turns his head in my direction.

"Not something you'd agree to." He answers dryly, looking back out at the fences.

"Try me." A pit in my stomach hardens at my foolish response. _You shouldn't have said anything, you dummy._

"How about you answer that question from the other night?" There's a pause between us, as I take in what I was dreading. I guess it was too hopeful to shoot for two whole days without incident. _Why couldn't he have just wanted to have sex in a public place?_

"Um," I clear my throat, "What was the question?"

Dwight scoffs before flicking the cigarette. "Forget it." Was his lack of conversation these past two days out of being bugged by my avoidance of that question? He opens the door of the factory and glances over at me as if to ask if I'm going inside. I enter the raucous factory of shouting and cheering.

As soon as my eyes find the point of everyone's interest, they widen in horror. A points worker punches Hal across the face and there's another one who grabs him up and decks him. Dwight appears in the periphery of my eye and looks down at the sight. No one's breaking it up. Saviors and workers alike are just standing by; the Saviors of course are the one's whooping. I think of counting to five before acting, but when Hal gets back up and slugs both men then immediately takes another hit from a random third guy; something just moves me down the metal stairs. _Now or never, coward._ I hear Dwight call my name as if to stop me, but I can't just sit idly by and not help my friend. I shove through the sea of people and once I get to Hal, I shield him with my body.

"Nan?" Hal's bloody face squints at me. "Get out of here!"

"That's right, Hal," A voice gruff behind me, "get your little bitch to step in and help you!" I fling myself off of Hal and my fist kisses the nose of the speaker. The crowd goes quiet. The man shakes the sting off and doesn't acknowledge the blood that's beginning to flow from his left nostril. He looks at me and returns the favor to my cheek. I stumble back and can feel Hal's hand steady me before he lunges to hit the guy back. I put an arm out to stop him, but he manages to hit the guy. I shove the guy away from trying to get to Hal. "Stop! That's enough!" He and the other two look me over. Dwight moves his way to the front of the crowd.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Reed's voice echoes somewhere in the crowd that's moving to make a path. I notice Daryl with a mop and bucket in the back. When Reed gets to the scene, he looks directly at me for an explanation. "Well? What the fuck happened?"

"They were fighting. I stopped it," And then something angry flickers in my head and I add, "Dock today's points and suspend tomorrow's. 14, 65, 30, and 35." I give him their numbers in a cold tone. I turn to Hal and snap my fingers for him to come with me. I'm met with not only his eyes, but also those of the other point earners. "Clear out!" I shout. Surprisingly, they all disperse unevenly. I'm just so fed up with all the fucking nonsense that the workers have put me through, and now Hal. Hal and I move towards Dwight.

Dwight follows us, most likely so he can chew me out for, yet again, being involved in a scrap. As we approach the stairs, a cold chill runs down my spine as I see a dark silhouette off to the side, because everything can always get worse here. I don't look at him or the other figure, who I now can see, as I march up the stairs. When I have to turn the in their direction, Negan claps his hands to me.

"My goodness!" He grins with his annoyingly perfect teeth, "you are a spectacular fucking sight to behold, my girl!" I'm shocked to see Sherry standing behind him. It makes my stomach hurt and I resist the impulse to look at Dwight. Tonight, if there is a tonight between us, ought be a whirlwind of fun. Negan's glowing expression is so irritating. "Every time I turn around, this little gal is raisin' hell," He looks over his shoulder at Sherry who maintains a stoic composure, "I love it!"

"I wasn't involved," I correct, "I just-"

"You just finished it," He interrupts, "and by the looks of it, you took fucking names. Or points away, but whose paying attention to details?" Negan's eyes blink to Hal and I feel the need to protectively adjust my stance so he's behind me. "Shit, kid you pack a hell of a wallop. Mean right hook." Hal just gives a half-nod in thanks and Negan lets his gaze suggestively float between Dwight and I. "I was looking to speak with you the other day, sweetheart. I went to your room, but you weren't there." I can see Sherry's eyes furrow and glower in Dwight's direction.

"I was playing Yatzee with Laura and I accidentally fell asleep there." I look up at him. "I'll be in my room in thirty minutes after I take him to see Carson, if you still need to speak to me." _Ah! Why would you say that?!_

"It's a date." Negan agrees with a sick, satisfied grin. He turns to Sherry. "Let's you and me go kill thirty minutes, huh?" She rolls her eyes and briskly walks to the stairs without acknowledging Dwight. Negan laughs in his throats before heading in the same direction. He turns back to us after a few steps and points Lucille at me. "Thirty minutes."

* * *

Carson cleans Hal up in less than ten minutes. He has a cut above his right eye from where a wedding ring had hit and the same eye looks like it'll swell shut. His slit lip, bloody nose, and bruises are not as bad as they look. The doctor tells me that I may have a tad bit of swelling and tenderness as well. His words make me remember that I had been hit.

"She would've been fine, if she had stayed out of it." Dwight snidely replies to Carson's comment. He followed Hal and I into the infirmary.

"No one else was doing anything." I scowl at his sour face. I know that Negan and Sherry randomly showing up put him in a bad mood, but that doesn't mean he can put all that onto me. _That's why he hasn't ended things._

"He's right, Anna." _Hal, no._ Both of us look over at Hal who's receiving stitches. I bare a look of betrayal. _He isn't supposed to take Dwight's side!_ "I can handle my own." He smiles with a little bit of bloody in mouth.

"No one messes with my best mate." I grin and we both chuckle. I look back at Dwight and my grin fades at his grimace. "What was the fight about?"

"No one calls my best mate a slut." Hal's smile lessens, too, as his eyes briefly flicker to Dwight. I sigh despairingly at the silly reason for him to be fighting. I walk over to him and lightly poke the bruising mark on his left cheek. He winces and laughs as stilly as he can without disrupting Carson's work. Carson smiles himself at the gesture.

"Don't get yourself in trouble defending my honor, Hal!"

When he's all fixed up and Carson's given him the bill, we make our exit. "Bloody hell!" Hal exclaims looking at the card. "Thanks for docking my points for two days, you dick!" He chuckles.

"I had to! Otherwise it would have looked like I was favoring you."

"You mean, I'm not your favorite?" Hal feigns a pout. "Then why've I gone out of my way to be nice to you for?" We both laugh.

"Maybe you should stay in my room tonight to avoid those guys trying to attacking you again," I swiftly look over my shoulder at Dwight, "I can stay somewhere else, so you have privacy."

"Thanks, but no thanks, gorgeous," We stop at my door, "I'll be fine." Hal normally would give me a hug, but I think with our chaperone behind me, he reconsiders. He waves at me and stalks off.

I turn anxiously around as if there's a chance that a rotter is behind me, but its just Dwight. _Too bad it wasn't a rotter._ He doesn't say anything, just stares at me and I can't tell what he's thinking. I resign to going into my room and I don't close the door, in case he wants to come in. _Please do._ I roll my shoulders back at the tension they carry. I hear my door shut behind me and I spin my body slowly to face him. "Dwight..." I begin to speak without any clue as to what to say, but he crashes his mouth down on mine; stopping me. I sigh and lean into the him.

 **...**

I comb out the tangles from my hair being mussed against the bed. Dwight lights another cigarette and smokes calmly. I want to say something, but every time I count to five in my head the lump in throat clenches tighter. A knock at the door causes me to slowly turn my head to him in panic. Negan's here. I forgot he was coming. Dwight puts the cigarette out on the bottom of his boot and stands up from the bed. I watch in nervousness and amazement as he just goes over to the door.

"I'll see ya later," He claims over his shoulder before opening the door and walking out. I hear him give a hoarse 'hey' as he disappears down the hall.

Negan enters my room after a moment and his face is solemn. _Oh god, the bed is a mess and the disgusting scent of sex is in the air!_ He quietly leans Lucille against the wall and walks around the small perimeter of my room. Ever since that day we were standing by that woman's grave at Alexandria, I've come to fear quiet Negan more than the Negan who never shuts up. Every fiber of my being is gripped with apprehension of what he will say or do when he turns around to face me. He looks over at the vase on my trunk and tilts his head.

"Didn't this have flowers in it?" When I don't answer right away, he looks back over his shoulder in a fearsome manner.

"Y-yes." I admit.

"Where'd they go?" Negan turns around and gazes down at me. "Dead in two days?" I shake my head shamefully. "So what happened? Did they look better in D's room?"

"I threw them out."

"Why the fuck would you do that?" His brows rise in curiosity.

"Self preservation." I brave to say.

"Self preservation?"

"People already think things about Dwight and I and I-"

"People fucking _know_ about you and Dwight," Negan chuckles darkly, "I think that's what you meant you say."

"I don't, um...don't want people thinking-"

"That you lifted a leg over the boss for what you have now?"

"That I didn't earn it." I clarify more firmly. "I was protecting myself from further defamation." Negan's smile lowers at what I'm implying. He lets out a rough sigh and scratches the side of his scruffy jaw. I watch him approach me until there isn't so much as a milligram of space between us. Deja vu fills the room as Negan inclines my head up with his fingers. He leans down until our lips are touching again.

Negan kisses me tenderly and I lower my head down to disrupt it. "Sweetheart," His gravely voice makes me feel nauesated, "You earned your place here. Shit, you proved that when you killed the previous tenant of this room and set those fucking mattresses ablaze." His cruel tease has me on the verge of tears. "Don't let anyone take that sense of pride away from you."

"I don't feel proud of those things," My voice is vacant.

"Hm, so how do you feel?" He moves my hair behind my shoulders.

Horrible, cruel, despicable. "Like a Savior."

Negan smirks. "Exactly. And that is a position you should be proud, no, _honored_ to have." He lets a thumb brush over my lips.

"I'm tired," I step back from him, "I'd liked go to bed."

"And where would you like to go to bed?"

"In my room. Alone." I put my arms across my stomach.

Negan reads my face, before walking over to collect his horrid bat. "Sweet dreams, Nan." He chuckles before exiting. I crawl into my bed and curl up into ball.

 **...**

"Nan?" A voice calls out from the other side of my door. It's Dwight. I can't answer to him right now. I've been completely under my blanket for the last three hours. How could let him kiss me? Everything that man does to people and I allowed him to kiss me! The sound of my door opening lets me know that Dwight didn't go away from lack of me answering him. _You let it happen again._ "Nan?" When I don't answer him, the blanket and sheets are lifted to expose me.

"What?" I have a blank expression on my face to cover up that I'm upset.

"Are you alright?" Dwight sits down on the bed. I reach over and touch his arm, but he moves it away. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" I rasp.

He scoffs. "What you tried to pull the other night. When I asked you a question and you climbed on top of me."

"I was showing you my tattoos." I lie.

"You tried to use sex to distract me." He bluntly replies. _Who said blondes are dumb?_ "You're doing it again."

"No, I just wanted you to lay down with me." I bring my arm back to my chest. I think I made him feel bad, because he looks away for a minute before kicking off his shoes, peeling off his vest, and getting under the covers. I worm my way over to him, but I don't touch him.

"We had sex earlier because Negan was coming here, huh?"

Dwight sighs through his nose and closes his eyes at the question I already know the answer to. "Yeah." His admittance hurts, I won't lie, but I understand why he did it. Negan was throwing Sherry in his face and Dwight knowing about Negan trying to kiss me the other day, probably figured he could do the same to him with me. Still, it feels like I'm a slab of meat being tugged at by two rotters. I want to hurt him back and tell him what transpired here three hours prior, but then he'll leave.

"Charlie." I whisper. _No, no, no; don't do this!_

"What?" His head turns to me.

"My boyfriend," I reply, "You asked if I was with anyone before everything. His name was Charlie."

"How long were you together?"

"I was twenty-two when we met. We were still together when everything went to hell. So maybe...four..five years total?"

"He's dead?"

"Yes," I feel a weakening in my chest, "He died about eleven months ago. It was my fault." I bring myself closer to him and, without asking, put my head on his chest.

"How was it your fault?" His arm drapes around me.

"I relied on him too much and it got him killed." _You always took more than you gave._ It feels like I just scooped my insides out. Put a crack in my own marble wall. To a man who just used me to piss off his ex-wife's new husband. Dwight's thumb caresses my arm and I close my eyes to end the day and conversation. _You exposed yourself._

* * *

"Bout time!" Solara says as she opens the gate for the truck about to come through. "Looks like Simon finally went to Hilltop for pick up."

The yard is teeming with more people than usual out here because of the truck driver radioing that they were near about fifteen minutes to three. Daryl and two others work to stay clear of the truck and roamers. Negan is even out here waiting for the truck's arrival and lucky for me, he doesn't approach or address me. Once inside, the two men in the truck get out and walk over to Negan to speak with him.

"Alright, let's get it unloaded and inside!" A bunch of guys walk towards the truck at Negan's command. Two guys enter the truck to get started. I hear another guy mention something about a messed up re-direct and Negan demanding to know whose job it was to make sure the re-direct was running smoothly. The two Saviors that relieve Solara and I are coming out of the factory entrance to start their shifts.

All of the sudden, the eager sound of gunfire pierces the air, causing everyone to instinctively duck, as well as whip around towards the truck. One of the guys runs off the back of the truck with his hands covering his head. From where I'm at, I can see that the other that was inside is dead in the truck, while another Savior on the outside is lying motionless on the ground. I frantically scan the yard to find Dwight. He's by the side of the truck, unharmed. His eyes quickly meet mine before a shadowed figure emerges from the back of the truck.

 _What the hell?_ It's that kid from Alexandria! He's dauntlessly wielding an assault rifle that he has pointed to the groups of Saviors that have gathered around the back of the truck.

"Where's Negan!" He shouts out to us. "Nobody else has to die! I just want him; he killed my friends."

* * *

 **A big thank you to everyone for all the love this story is getting!**

 **Yosra72: I respect your opinion on Dwight and am happy you still can enjoy the story.**

 **Moorish Woe: It really makes me glad to know that my story helps you with the blues! That's so nice to hear that Save Yourself can bring some respite.**

 **minstorai: As always, whenever you review, you make me laugh! I love your input.**

 **PruRose: Whoa, you're so gracious! Than you for loving my story and my OC. It's always good to know that Nan (and her thoughts) are well received as well as my portrayal of Dwight and Negan!**


	16. Pain and Humiliation

**Content Warning: violence/ gore**

* * *

"Drop your weapons, now!" The kid in the cowboy hat orders, but none of the Saviors do. I, at least, take my hands off the rifle that's strung over me. Negan is on the right side of the truck out of sight from the gunman. He like everyone else had ducked down halfway when the gun first went off. Ours eyes meet and he smile reaches his eyes as he starts to stroll forward, unafraid. His lips coolly purse and that fucking whistle breezes into the air. The kid keeps his fierce expression as he guides his rifle towards the noise and even when he sets his sights on Negan, he's fearless.

"You are adorable!" Negan promenades through his gathered men, all of whom are fixed like Terracotta soldiers unable, or perhaps unwilling to move from the danger that could be easily diffused. _All they have to do is let him have Negan._ The kid doesn't try to take a shot at him, instead he watches cautiously as Negan moves and appears to be confused that no else does. "Did you pick that gun because it looked cool? You totally fucking did, didn't you?" Negan stops behind a guy who he grabs by the shirt and centers like a human shield. "I ain't gonna lie to you, kid. You scare the shit out of me!"

In an attempt to disarm the distracted kid, a Savior whose name I don't know, lunges at the kid who fills him with lead. Dwight comes from the side and tackles him to the ground. Something raw and sharp grips my chest inwardly as he wrestles the gun from the kid. The kid takes a successful swing at Dwight and Dwight quickly turns the gun on him while still holding him down. _Oh, god, please don't shoot him._

"Dwight, back off him." Negan's voice is adamant as he lazily walks over to the two. Dwight removes the knife from the kid's belt before stepping to the side with both weapons. "Is that anyway to treat our guest?" The kid lies on his back, confused and worried, at Negan extending his hand to him. "Go on, don't be bashful now. " The kid looks at his hand and then back at him, as if trying to figure out what will happen if he does. "Are you seriously not gonna take my hand? You come in here, gun down two of my fuckin' men, and then don't have the balls to take my hand?" Negan turns over to the fences, which make me look over, too. Daryl's standing by the gates, trying to get a better look at the situation. Oh yeah, these two know each other. "Hard enough out here?" Negan calls to him, knowing fully well that it's more for the kid's ears than Daryl's, "Sure would be a lot fuckin' harder with only one hand, don't you think?" He looks back down at the kid. "Jesus, you have the same look on your face as your dad. Well, half the look anyway, 'cause you got only got one eye." I squint over to the kid's face and notice a bandage over his eye that I've only seen covered with hair. I wince at the thought of this young, albeit dangerous kid losing an eye and hope that it's not because of Negan. "So, you can take my hand, or your daddy can take one of Daryl's."

The kid's troubled face screws up as he reluctantly takes Negan's hand and is hauled to his feet. He looks out beyond the gate at Daryl and all the chained and impaled dead in disgust. Solara looks over her shoulder and quietly panics, before signaling to Daryl to watch out. Daryl scrambles away from a roamer that was almost lucky enough to get him. She looks at me with relief that Daryl didn't get caught and I have to be thankful to her for helping him. I give a small nod at her and then look back to the kid.

"Let me show you around the place, Carl." Negan sweeps a hand out in front of him, surveying the area.

"Damn, I'm not gonna have time to fuck any of my wives today!" Negan yells out before turning to Dwight. "Well, maybe one." He chuckles as he twists his body and locks eyes with me. He places two fingers in his mouth and whistles at me like I'm a dog. "Nan, front and center!" I hand the guard who's now on gate duty my gun before hustling over to him. I glance over at Dwight and blush at that humiliating comment made towards him. Once I get over to Negan's side, I immediately look up to him to avoid the kid's gaze. "Go get Keller so we can get these bodies burned and hustle that candy ass of yours before they wake up." _Candy ass?_ Is he calling me a coward, or making a perverted observation?

I head off to find Keller and jog when I'm out of sight. As worried as I am about the kid, Carl I think Negan said was his name, I'm a tad bit calmer than I normally should be in a situation like this. _Negan won't kill a kid, will he?_ I mean, the kid's still breathing after killing two guys. _Would Dwight have killed him?_ I flutter pains my stomach at the image of Dwight pointing the gun down at the kid, ready to. _Maybe..._

 _ **...**_

Keller comes to the front with me to collect the bodies. They're starting to rustle on the ground. "They're heads will be still too hard to stomp, so just stick 'em." Like I was planning on stomping in the heads! I search the grounds for Dwight since he has that knife he confiscated, but he's nowhere in sight and neither is Daryl which almost has my chest heaving. "Here." Keller hands me his knife and then tells me to put both of them down. I take the lighter looking one by the ankles, as instructed, and follow Keller to the door that'll take us to the incinerator. When we're inside, the bodies create a little bit of blood trail that Keller says not to worry about. "That's what the moppers are for."

We pass the kitchen area that seems to be blooming with fresh fruit and vegetables. I spy Dwight and Daryl and am glad that Daryl doesn't appear to be in worse shape than he already is. Even though we pass it, my eyes still focus on the kitchen down the hall, so that I don't have to stare at the body as I backwardly drag it down to be burned.

Once we make it down to the incinerator, Keller starts the fire and then we hoist the bodies in together, because Keller wants to "roast two birds on one fire." I stand there and watch them go up in flames. It feels disrespectful to pile one on top of the other for the sake of making it easier and less time consuming. I don't know either of these men and I can only imagine the things that they may have done for Negan, but it still doesn't seem right to destroy them like this. Keller shuts the door loudly to get me out of my head.

"What we do with the ashes?" I ask. Keller raises a brow.

"Scatter 'em by a beautiful landmark, what you think?" Keller's remark makes me wince. "We just throw 'em over the fences." _This isn't cremating our dead; it's just garbage duty._

I walk pass the quarters and when I see Hal's shadow through the curtain, I decide to go see him. "Whoa." I accidentally blurt out when I see Hal's bruised and swollen face. He stands up from his mattress with furrowed brows and comes over to me, walking out of the quarters.

"I thought I said you shouldn't be here, so what do you want?" Hal asks.

"I am of higher rank, soldier, I don't have to listen to you," I smile, "I was just checking on you."

"I'm alright." He curtly answers and then looks over my shoulder. I turn and see Reed staring with a raised brow. "Thanks for checking in, nurse." Hal adds sardonically.

"Geez, Hal, sorry for the concern." I turn to walk away, but he quickly puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Sorry, sorry, don't leave yet." I look over at him in waiting. "What's going on? There was kid with Negan awhile ago."

"The kid's from a place we take from. He hid in the back of a truck and machine gunned two people." I explain. Hal eyes widen in shock. I scoff, "He's gonna be...fine."

"You sound so certain of that." Hal points out. "Negan gave this big 'ol speech when he came in."

"About what?"

"About how the Saviors go out in the world and fight the dead," We both roll our eyes and I grin at the fact our responses were the same, "and then said that everyone gets fresh veg for dinner for free."

"Well, that's good." I note. It's probably to impress the kid, since that's never happened before. "That was it? No child flogging scheduled?"

Hal gives me a 'that's not funny' look. "No."

"Good," I sigh while looking down the line of sheets and tarps, "How's Sharon? Can I go see her?"

"She's asleep," Hal says, "Best not to wake her. She says she's okay and already back to the coops. Said she can't not work, if she's got to pay Negan back for the meds. She just comes straight from the coops, maybe eats, and then goes straight to bed."

"Oh, well then, I better go I guess," I smirk at him, "your face is kind of hard to look at."

" My face?" Hal scoffs, but when my face drops its humor, he steers away from making a remark about Dwight. "Cause you're the Jewel of Nile with that lovely rouge you're wearing." I touch the bruise on my cheek and snicker.

"I guess neither of us will be taking home the crown and roses, huh?"

"Don't know," He says confidently, "I think I could really nail the personality portion." I pat his arm before heading off to my room.

* * *

I'm down the hallway two second before I see Dwight and Daryl turn down it from the other end. Dwight looks pissed and once his eyes meet mine, he sobers out his features. _Nice try._ Daryl also, I think, looks upset; probably because a kid from his community is here and alone with Negan.

"Get him a mop and bucket," Dwight tells me as he stops Daryl, "Head to the front of the factory in half an hour." I can feel my heartbeat pick up.

"Why?" I put myself in front of Dwight as he tries to pass me without explanation. "What's he gonna do the kid?" I ask with a slight tremble in my voice.

"It's not for the kid," He places a hand on my arm so that he can move past me, "it's for Mark." _The guy who works redirect?_ The redirect is a system that keeps the dead from wandering to the Sanctuary, as the dead tend to do. Our employed roamers kind of help with that, too, but the redirect ensures that we don't become over run with dead since they liked to linger when their among friends. It's usually just some Saviors that create diversions or trip wires that makes sounds to distract any of the dead that aimlessly make their way in our direction.

Daryl and I go to the closet that has some buckets and mops. I pull out one of each out and fill the bucket with water and bleach. "Where were you guys before now?" I turn to Daryl.

He gives me the up and down. "The top," He grumbles, "He had me carry a tray of food up there to a room with some women in it."

"Those were Negan's wives." I wheel the bucket over to him and hand him the mop that's dunked in. We walk down the hall quietly for a while before swelling curiosity gets the better of me. "Do you know what's gonna happen?"

"No." He answers tersely. "What's he gonna do to Carl?"

I turn my head to look at him. "I don't know." Fat Joey walks past us in the hall with Lucille in his hand. Negan must have dropped the bat when Carl lit up the front end. Joey's probably going to go return Lucille to Negan. _Kiss ass._ Seeing him reminds of the key in my pocket that he gave to me the other day. Part of me is tempted to take it and hand it to Daryl, but I know better than that. _It's Joey's key, he'd be blamed if Daryl got_ _out._ No, that's not fair. Fat Joey is a jerk, but I can't in all good conscience let him take the wrap for me. Besides, Daryl's kind of Dwight's responsibility and if he escapes, Negan can just as easily blame and punish Dwight.

 **...**

When we finally get to the front, a congregation of Saviors and workers are gathering around the fireplace. This place must have been like an iron works factory, or something because the Sanctuary has bunch of these fireplaces that look like something blacksmiths or iron workers would use. Carson is standing uncomfortably by and is looking pitifully down at the man whose hands are tied behind a metal chair. It's Mark and his eyes are cast down to the floor in either fear, or shame. Dwight's over by the fire, staring into it intently. I notice Sherry with another girl over to the far left. We move around and I tell Daryl to stand off to the side near me, while I approach the fireplace.

I can feel Sherry's eyes on me as I walk, but I don't care. I have to know what's going on. It's when I get closer to Dwight that I faintly realize what's about to happen. Over his shoulder, there's an iron resting in the fire and I understand that he isn't just staring at nothing. _"It wasn't enough, so Dwight...he got the iron."_

"Dwight?" I practically murmur, but he hears me and turns briefly over to glance at me. "What's going on?" I get a little closer and gaze into the fire, too.

"Mark, Amber use to be his girlfriend," He says without looking at me. I look over quickly at Mark and then my eyes flicker to the girl that's with Sherry. I assume she's Amber and from the looks of her appearance and by Dwight's implications with the phrase "use to be", I would say that she's a wife. She's got long blonde hair and, maybe it's her baby face and doe eyes, that make her seem like she's younger than me. Her lost puppy dog facial expression lets me know that she's whom Dwight's talking about. "He skipped redirect duty to go be with her behind Negan's back." _Oh, fuck...this won't be pretty._

A loud metallic banging sound makes me jump as it echoes through the silent factory. We both turn around and a knot forms in my throat as I see Negan on the catwalk with the kid in tow behind him. Dwight, the crowd, I obediently kneel. Oh, shit, I meant to be near Daryl to pull him down when the time came. However, when I peer over at him sideways, he's lowered himself to the ground. _Is he finally breaking?_ He could be doing it so Negan won't find a reason to hurt the boy because of mistake he made. My mind goes to that horrific photograph in his cell. _Again._

Negan stands on the stairs with the kid off to the side. "You all know the deal," He begins, "What's about to happen is not gonna be fuckin' pretty and I don't want to fuckin' do it." _I'm so sure._ "I wish I could just ignore the rules and forget it, but I can't do that! Why?"

"The rules keep us alive." We all reply like parrots to our captain.

"Thank you" Negan starts to descends the stairs, "That is exactly right. We survive. We provide security; we bring civilization back to the world. We are...the Saviors." _We bring civilization to others by being uncivil._ "We can't do any of that without rules, now can we, because rules are what make it all fuckin' work! It's not always fun. Nothing worth having ever comes easy; there's always a cost." Death, mutilation, or points? "Here, if you try cut corners, if you try to skirt by!" His voice is grated and angry. "Then it's the iron for you." Negan chuckles darkly before walking all the way down.

I turn my head to Dwight who glances my way before heavily looking down. Negan's words remind me of our conversation the other day when he suspected that I was trying to skirt it by lifting up my skirt, so to speak. _Would I have gotten the iron if it were true?_ My eyes move between Mark who's trying not to cry and Amber whose failing at it. Sherry puts her arms around her and whispers in her ear which seems to make her calm down.

"On your feet!" Negan demands and we all rise. His eyes smolder into mine with the reflection of the fire behind me. His face is menacingly charming like a cult leader and when he allows a fraction of a smile to rear up at me, I side step over to where Daryl is. Despite his smell, I find a place behind him. Negan goes over to Dwight and picks up a large black glove and puts it on. Dwight puts on a pair as well and then takes an iron tool that he pokes into the fire. My heart thuds against me as I watch. "Mark, here, decided to play hooky from his responsibilities and fool around with one of my dear wives." _I'm sure they're all so precious to you_. "Now, my wives don't have to be with me if they don't want to, you all know that as well as they do. It's an _honor_ to be with me; to accept my hand in marriage and not have to work for points." My eyes look down at the floor when his head turns to the right side of the crowd and his eyes try to meet mine again. "An honor that only needs to be repaid with their devotion and unwavering loyalty to our union. If that's too much to handle and they want to leave, go back to earning their supper, and be with whomever they want; that's all well and fine." His head moves to the big-eyed blonde girl by Sherry, as if to speak directly to her. "However, what they cannot do... is cheat on me." _Is there a way he could distribute this information out in a pamphlet or something, so we don't have to listen to it?_ None of us care about Negan's martial strife.

Dwight pulls out the poker that has the iron hooked onto it. His eyes never leave it as he cranes it over to Negan. Negan takes it with his gloved hand and strolls over to Mark who's practically hyperventilating. "Sorry, Mark," Negan says unapologetically, "It is what it is." He presses the iron to Mark's face; on the same side as Dwight's. Mark scream is agonizing to hear which I imagine is nothing compared to the terrible, searing pain he's enduring. _Pull it away already!_ Tears well up in my eyes and I retract my hand that uncontrollably touched the material of Daryl's shirt near his elbow. Daryl's hands grip the mop handle and he looks slightly over at me. My eyes drift over to Dwight whose eyes are closed and my tears blink out. It has to be like reliving his day with the iron. _Can you still feel the heat on your face? The pain and humiliation?_ The screaming stops and Negan takes the iron from Mark's face. A trail of flesh peels off Mark's face with the iron like cheese. From here, it's not hard to tell that Mark may have passed out from the trauma by the way his head is dropping.

"There," Negan declares as he hangs the iron back on Dwight's poker like it's a fucking Christmas decoration, "All is forgiven and squared out. Mark and I are cool, now." _You sick son of a bitch!_ "But let his face be a reminder to him and all of you that this is what happens when rules aren't followed, because I do not want to have to do that again!" Negan moves back over to Mark and takes a second look at him while the rest of us all try to hold our wits and lunch in. "The pussy passed out...and fuckin' pissed himself!" Just as soon as he says that, I swear a faint breeze carries the smell of urine and burning flesh over. He then walks over to Daryl and I step back so that Negan can tower over him. "Clean that up." He pretends to murmur. My eyes avoid his at all costs. Negan then goes over to the kid who's just as disturbed as the rest of us. He is, once again, invading personal space and his husky voice says something inaudible to the kid as he takes Lucille from his hand. The two climb back up the stairs while the crowd slowly disperses. Carson goes over to Mark and asks two people to help get him up to the infirmary. Sherry and Amber also take off, the latter has her hands covering her face and the former is glances over at Dwight who stares back. _I got to get out of here._

I stalk off to the stairs to get out outside as fast I can without looking like I lost my cool. _What cool?_ The phony cool that holds me together like cheap glue. Once outside, I go down the concrete steps and hurriedly try to get to the side of the factory that is always lonely right before you get to the east yard. As I get by the trucks, something flashes from one truck to another. I glance over at the guards who are looking out at the rotters. They play a game where they try to guess each rotter's job from when they were still alive. _Morons_. My eyes trail the one truck where I think whatever I saw scurry to. I hold my breath at what looks like feet of perhaps a second intruder. Crap, I don't have a weapon if it is. _Maybe just don't check it out._ No, then I'll have to burn more bodies if others die, because I didn't look into it. I slowly walk over to the front of the truck. _You could be that body in the incinerator._ "Hello?" _That's what the girls say in the horror films before they get murdered_. "The kid is okay." I don't know why I speak at all, but maybe if there is someone there, they just want the kid back and might be willing to come out if they think I can take them to him.

"Hey!" A voice makes me jump and then whip around in surprise. It's Laura. "What're you doing?"

My heart is so loud I think I can hear it beating in my ears. "I, um, thought I saw something." I take a few steps to the front, but when I get there; there's nothing there.

"Well?" Laura has her hands on her hips.

"Nothing," _Your head's not right_ , "all clear." I must have just imagined a pair of feet. The traumatic experience I just witnessed has me all riled up. Now, I feel stupid for basically talking to myself.

"You okay?" Laura asks. She looks a little concerned while keeping her cool as a cucumber disposition.

"I'm fine," I smile meekly. "What are you doing?" I lean an arm up against the front tire.

"Your shoe's untied," She points out. I bend down and begin to tie it. "D asked me if I could take Daryl back out to the fences." She explains.

"Oh." _Dwight._ I should go find him. Why do I suddenly feel selfish for being out here? Is it because I saw the look on his face when Mark was crying out with a pain that only he could understand and then left the building afterwards without checking on him? I abruptly jolt a little when I feel like something touched me. I look under the truck and there's nothing there. _Get a grip._

"Sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," I stand up, "Well, I have to...pee. See ya." I head back to the factory with a little color in my cheeks from that weirdo statement. _Go find him._

* * *

I shuffle to my room and undress. I run a hand through my hair as I sit down on my bed. My eyes look over to the vase that sits on my trunk. Everything inside of me wants to take it and smash it against the wall. But as I rapidly get up, walk over, and snatch it up by the mouth, something unknown and small holds me back from destroying it. After a few minutes of trying to will myself to so much as just let it slip from my hand and fall to the floor, I put it down and open my trunk. I get out my blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and the smoky gray sweater I have yet to wear despite the factory always feeling like it's below zero. I cuff the pant legs twice since the jeans are a little long for me. I put my converse back on and then head out to go find Dwight.

I pin my hair up in a messy bun as I walk through the halls. I knock on his door, but there's no answer. I bite my lip nervously as I decide to just open it. Empty. The door is closed as quietly as possible before I carry on. Maybe the showers? The door that'll take me into the stairwell to the second floor is propped open and the smell of cigarette smoke faintly hits me as I walk through the frame.

"Don't beat yourself up, Sher." The sound of Dwight's voice stops me in my tracks. _Eureka._

"Why would I?" I recognize Sherry's voice.

"You sold her out." Dwight replies. I feel like I should back away slowly and not eavesdrop on this obviously private conversation.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"So, Amber ratted herself out?" Dwight scoffs mildly. "He asked you about Mark and Amber? You had to tell him the truth?" I can't tell if Dwight's being accusatory or he's trying to make an excuse for her.

"That's not what happened." Sherry's tone sounds defensive. _Get out of here, you creep!_ I slowly start to turn to leave.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"How do you sleep at night?" Sherry's question makes me stop. I listen for his response.

"I don't," Dwight's response saddens me, "I watch T.V. straight til morning." That would explain those times that he was sitting in the chair, or why he's usually awake before me. And why he claims he's "just not tired."

"When we made that deal with him, it was only suppose to effect the two us," Sherry's voice gets lower, "I never wanted others to be hurt because of something I..." She cuts herself off before she openly admits blame.

"That's not how it works," He speaks when she doesn't, "If you're still standing, it always on some else's back. Trust me, I know."

Sherry sighs with what sounds like disappointment and if that's it, I share her frustration with Dwight's answer. Our lives shouldn't be held up by the misery and pain of others. "We should go before someone sees us."

"We're not doing anything."

"You're right, D. We're not." Sherry's words are soft spoken but harsh. I hear the sound of heels clanking up the metal stairs and in no time, I hear the door from the top of the stairs scrape open and close. _Run while you still can._

I tread over to the foot of the stairs and immediately am looking up at Dwight leaning against the left sidewall. With furrowed brows, he stares down at me with a cigarette still lit in his hand. "How much did you hear?" _Fuck, is he no nonsense, or what?_

"Um, all of it, I think..."I start to drudge up the stairs, "I didn't mean to, I swear. I was looking for you and I didn't want to interrupt." I'm a little fearful of making it up to him and stop about two steps below to lean against the wall opposite of him. "You okay?"

"Fine." Dwight answers shortly.

He takes a final drag from the cigarette before putting it out against the wall and then starts to come down the stairs. He's about two steps below me when I reach out and touch his arm. Dwight turns his face to look at me and then slowly shifts all the way towards me. I anxiously look down at him and in a split second; his hands are around my waist. He pulls me closer to him and begins to pepper my neck with lustful kisses. I place my hand on his arms, trying to cut out the temptation to let him continue. _He's using you again._

"Dwight, I...ah!" I heave mid-sentence as his mouth hungrily devours my neck and desire aches between my legs. He puts his hands up my shirt as he switches to the other side of my neck. "W-wait, people might come by." Dwight removes his hands from under my shirt and goes down the stairs. I stare down and listen to his footsteps and after a few seconds, he returns and starts up. I hear the sound of the door swinging closed and I realize that he had gone down to kick out the doorstopper. With both doors closed, it's like we're in a private room. I go down the stairs to meet him, both excited and conflicted. It's sort of hot to have sex here with the slight risk of being walked in on. At the same time, I'm troubled by it because I was trying to find him so that I could talk to him, not so I could get nailed in a dirty stairwell. "Um..."

"It's okay," Dwight resumes gluing his mouth to my neck and his hands start to unbutton my jeans, "Nobody's coming." I press my body against the wall as I feel his left hand graze down below my underwear. I moan as quietly as I can when he slides two of his fingers between my slippery folds. I feel around for his belt to undo it and his pants as Dwight teases my clit with my arousal.

I stick my hand through the slit in his boxers and he let outs a moan. I lower my self down with each knee on a different step and take him in my mouth. As I begin to suck him off, I massage his balls, which causes a groan in the back of his throat. A moan hums from my lips when his hand holds the back of my head by my hair. Dwight gets hard fairly quickly and in no time, he pulls me up by the arms and shoves my pants and underwear down. I put one of my feet up another step so he can slide into me. Dwight lifts my other leg and unceremoniously sticks his desire into me, which makes me yelp at how hard he does. He immediately starts voraciously thrusting into me.

I try to lean forward to kiss his neck, but he catches my mouth and encourages my head back to the wall. When I'm subdued, he stops kissing me and focuses on thrusting. My hand runs across his chest before he quickly snatches it with his and pins it up against the wall under his. "Don't." He pants out as he continues to buck in and out of me. I furrow my brows as I study his face as he fixates on some unknown point. After a minute or two, Dwight picks up the pace, but soon after I feel his penis go limp inside me. "Fuck!" He shouts under his breath. He looks down between us and pulls out. Dwight lets go of my thigh and arm before slowly but irritably backing up to lean against the other wall.

This is a little awkward. "It's okay." I say demurely with feverish cheeks. He stares up over at me with a little spite in the eyes. I have a knack for making things worse by trying to make them better. _Just shut up now._ I clear my throat. _No!_ "A lot happened today." _Oh, god why did you say that?_ When has a guy ever wanted a pat on the back after losing his erection?

"I don't need you to console me, alright?" Dwight sneers as he put his flaccid member back into his boxers as step one of reassembling himself.

"I'm sorry, I just...I understand is all."

"There's nothing to understand, Nan," His eyes fix on me, "I got distracted."

"Was it me?" I ask while pulling my panties back up. "Did I break your concentration trying to kiss you, or something?" Dwight sighs through his nose while fixing his belt and doesn't answer or even look at me, but the implication is there. _Oh, really?_ "You're so full of shit." I shake my head as I button my pants up and turn for the stairs.

"Nan." He reaches for my arm, but I shrug it away from him.

"Don't!" I run down the stairs and shove the door open as fiercely as I can to leave for my room. I walk in a fluster as I tread down the hall. The sound of the stairwell door opens and closes behind me and I can hear footsteps.

"Nan!" Dwight calls after me, but I storm faster until I get to my room where I slam the door behind me. I turn around and wait for him to open the door in three- two- one..."What the fuck are you doing?" He shouts loud enough that anyone within earshot could hear.

"How dare you blame what just happened on me," I point my finger in his direction, "I try to be nice and you throw it in my face!"

"Excuse me for not wanting you to comfort me for going limp!" He fires back. "And I didn't say it was you, did I?"

"You didn't say it wasn't my fault either, when I asked." I retort quickly. "We're they together again?" Dwight gives me a look. "When you and Daryl went up there earlier, were they together?"

"Shut up, Nan," He shakes his head, "You don't get to use her against me."

"No, only Negan can do that."

Dwight snickers dryly. "You are such a bitch, Nan, you know that?"

"Yes, I am a bitch," I nod with a hand on my hip, "a bitch who is probably the only person here who actually has any real sympathy for you!"

"Oh, take your pity and go fuck yourself!"

"Well, if you're not gonna do it." _Low blow, bitch._

"You know what, I'm done," Dwight put his hands up in surrender, "I can't handle your no-strings-attached-we-can-be-friends bullshit!"

"Good, cause you exhaust me! I'm tired of walking on eggshells with you and getting treated like a nameless whore whenever you have a spat with Sherry, or you think Negan's moving in on me. You're done? Well, I'm done, too. Maybe you'll be able to keep it up in your hand!"

"Fuck you!"

"Not a chance." I laugh, but not without tears forming up like the traitors they are. "You really had me goin' for a minute, D," His face scrunches in confusion, "You said you liked being around me and I, like a fucking fool, believed it! I honestly believed that you liked me...that we were friends. "

"Grow the fuck up, Nan!" Dwight smiles bitterly. "Friends don't fuck each other. None of that shit you said is real! People are only ever in relationships."

"R-relationship?" The word terrifies me. My eyes dart across his face with discomfort.

"Yeah," Dwight scoffs, "When two people are together, whether it's serious, or just sex; it's a relationship."

"So...you think we were in a relationship?" My voice has the naivety and skepticism of someone who was born last night.

Dwight sighs. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, that's over." I coolly state and our eyes meet.

The radio on his belt statics before a voice speaks. "The trucks are all ready, Negan. What time we leaving? Over." It's Arat. Both Dwight and I stare at each other in silence.

"We'll leave in fifteen," Negan's voice answers back, "Has anyone seen Nan? Over." Dwight takes the walkie off his belt and holds it up to his mouth, but Gary's voice enters the air.

"Yeah, Laura said she was outside by the gates not long ago, is she riding along? Over."

"Yep, check her room on the second floor and tell her to get her ass out by the trucks in fifteen. Over."

"Got it. Over."

Dwight clicks the button on the side. "This is D, I'm on the second floor. I'll let her know."

"Roger that." Gary replies. We stare at each other again. I go over to my trunk and fish out the belt I was given when we first went to Alexandria. I'm most likely going to be given a gun, so I'll need the belt to clip the holster on. I also fix my hair as best I can. _Why he is still here?_ I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as a way of composing myself.

"I gotta go." I speak mildly.

"Yeah." Dwight clips the radio back on his belt and leaves. I take a few deep breaths before I also exit to go to the front. _It'll be okay._

* * *

When I make it to the front of the factory, three trucks are pulled up, ready to roll out at Negan's word. Negan's standing over by one of the trucks with the kid and as soon as he sees me, he smiles and motions me over with his hand. I climb down the steps and spot Dwight over by the gates, talking to one of the guards. My eyes look down as his head turns my way and some crestfallen feeling pulls at me. _It's for the best._ We could never go two days without rubbing each other the wrong way and it just needs to stop before things get worse. An attention-calling whistle has my head snapping upward in Negan's direction. He's looking right at me, so I walk over to him and the kid.

"Nan," He smiles and points to the kid, "This is Carl. Carl, this is Nan." I'm a little taken back and force myself to hold an unfazed appearance. Carl's previously bandaged eye now reveals an exposed eye socket. The fearsome looking shooter for earlier, now has a timid child's face and it would've seemed impossible that he had killed two people, if I hadn't seen it myself. "Don't be fuckin' shy, kid," Negan nudges Carl's arm and Carl flinches it away, "Be a gentleman and open the door for the lady."

Carl oddly listens to him as I look up Negan in distress. "I'm riding with-"

"With me and the kid? Hell yeah, you are!" He chuckles. I gaze at the open door of the truck with trepidation about getting in. I finally walk over and as I go to climb in, Negan's by the side of the door, offering me his hand. After a quick scan of the area to make sure no one's looking, I take it and hoist myself up into the driver's seat. "Scooch over darlin', the kid's gonna drive." I slide over to the hump and Carl gets in shortly. Negan shuts the door and disappears from the side mirror view. We sit in silence for a few seconds, until the passenger door creaks open and the bed of the truck dips as Negan climbs in. "Fire it up, kid." I was initially nervous that Negan's letting Carl drive, since he doesn't look like he's old enough to drive, but he actually does all right. Negan has him stop halfway through the gates. "Daryl!" Daryl comes over to the side of the truck. "You seemed worried, so I'm taking the kid home. You're fuckin' welcome." Daryl begins to speak in a threatening manner, but Negan cuts him off. "D, come get Daryl and give him a time out."

I will myself not to crane my body over to see if I can see him. _You can see him from the right side mirror_. Damn it! The truck rolls out and I look to Negan in bewilderment, but he's too busy flipping Daryl the bird. Dwight's not coming to Alexandria? An abrupt feeling of anxiety knocks into me at that realization. Dwight's always been close by since I first got "promoted" for killing Ronnie and fight or no fight, I don't want to go so far from home without him. Especially, since I saw Davy get into the truck with Gary and Laura. _Be an adult and learn to look out for yourself._

"Oh, lordy, kid," Negan laughs as soon as we get out on the road, "How mad is daddy gonna be when you turn up?" Carl doesn't respond. "Is Rick a corporal punishment kind of father? He's a bit of a bitch, so I'm guessing not. I mean, if he was, you sure as hell wouldn't be the little one-eyed badass that you were today, cause you'd be too scared to step a toe outside the house without his say so." Negan sounds like he's speaking more to himself than he is Carl. It makes me wonder if he's reminiscing on something, however before I get the opportunity to think further on it, he turns to me and speaks. "So...I take it Dwight found you in your room."

"What?" I glance at him from the side, but am bent on keeping my eyes forward.

"He's the one who told you to that you were coming along, right?"

"Oh, uh...yeah."

"Where were you when he found you?" Negan's prying eyes are fixed on me.

"My...room." We come across a straggler in the road and Carl starts to slow down.

"Don't slow down, kid, just go ahead and hit it," Negan says like a dad teaching his kid to drive, "So, you were in your room and?"

 _Oh, god._ I thought he would have dropped it from being side tracked with Carl. "And?"

"A little farewell freaky deaky?" He throatily chuckles and pounds Lucille on the floor.

"No." I curtly answer, hoping that'll be enough and he'll stop. Does he ever stop?

"No? The hickey forming on your neck is calling you a liar." I jump at his gloved finger touching a spot on my neck. _What a damn fucking child!_ Mortified, I put a had over where he just poked and try to avert myself from looking over at Carl who's eye is looking at me. I can't believe Dwight gave me a hickey! Yet another way of trying to get back at Negan? I take the pins out and let my hair fall down to try and cover it. The truck bounces violently with the dead rolling under it. Negan laughs and I'm unsure if it's at me or Carl hitting the roamer.

* * *

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	17. The Suburbs

"Little to the right, you're starting to veer off a bit." Negan mildly instructs. Carl slightly turns the wheel to correct the truck and Negan gives a gloved thumbs up. "You drive pretty good for a one- eyed teenager."

"Um, thanks." Carl shyly answers. This kid is something else, I swear it. Two or three hours ago, he shoots up the front of the Sanctuary from the back of a truck he snuck in on with the intent on killing Negan. Now, he's acting like any average kid that just got complimented by Captain America. I mean I have no doubt that Carl despises Negan, but his boyish bewilderment of this incredibly twisted and unusual man is sort of cute. He runs over a third roamer and the truck bounces abruptly.

"Sorry." My elbow accidentally nudges into Carl because of the turbulence.

"It's okay." He rasps.

"Um, you're drifting again." I note softly. Carl sighs, frustrated, as he readjusts the truck. I can tell he's irked that that he keeps unknowingly veering to the left because of his impaired eyesight. "I, uh, got my license when I was seventeen," Carl looks quickly over at me before focusing back to the road, "I was so excited to drive home and then I rear-ended another car two blocks away from the DMV." Carl smiles at my story and I chuckle under my breath.

"That's pretty bad," He laughs, "Were your parents mad at you?"

"Yeah, they didn't speak to me for two solid days." My smile lowers at the memory. "But they forgave me like parents do." Negan scoffs at my attempt to comfort Carl who's probably worried about going home to face his dad. He probably wouldn't be, if he had successfully killed the man in the car with us. Negan's been oddly quiet this entire ride, not that we all haven't, but for Negan it seems damn near impossible for him to bolt his trap for more than ten seconds. I turn my head a little to see him staring out the window with his arm hanging out.

"What happened to your face?" Carl timidly asks about the bruise on my cheek.

"She could ask you the same thing, kid." Negan snickers without looking over at either of us.

"I was breaking up a fight and got punched in the process." I explain.

"I got shot by this kid who was trying to kill my dad." Carl tells me without my own inquiry. I cringe at the mental picture of him taking a bullet in the eye. If I didn't believe in luck before, I sure as hell do now.

"Jesus," Negan chimes in and I wish he wouldn't, "You're bad-ass, rad-ass eye is due to someone, once again, taking the hit for your father? Man, that guy is fuckin' incredible." His use of the word "incredible" is darkly sarcastic and without thinking, I look over at him with chagrin. He notices and turns his head my way. His eyes grow dark, unimpressed with my dirty look, so I set my eyes back on the road. _The fuck is this guy's problem?_ He was all sunshine and rainbows when we first left and now he's randomly in a bad mood.

All three of us are silent for a few more miles since he clearly made Carl mad with the jab at his father. Negan restlessly sits up and pushes a button on the radio. I shift in my seat when his knee knocks mine. This cab is entirely too small for a kid, a woman, and a bat- wielding lunatic. Shortly after he pressed the button, "It Ain't Me Babe" begins to play in the car. I remember hearing the song in high school when I was going through my only-listen-to-old- folk- music phase, but instead of making me reminiscent, it haunts me along with the pain I caused people I cared about. Nevertheless, I have to will myself not to sing along.

"Home, sweet home!" Negan hums as we pull up to the gates of Alexandria. He leans over me and honks the horn twice. The engrossing scent of cologne traipses by as he sits back in his seat. The gates open and Carl drives on in, much to the surprise of others. When he stops where Negan tells him to, he takes the keys out and hands them to me. Negan's suddenly regained his spirits and is out of the truck before either of us. He turns around as if he may offer to help me out, but I climb out on Carl's side. "Good Evening!" He practically sings.

The people of Alexandria all look nervous at us being here, but that's all in good reason. Laura, Gary, Davy, and the rest of the Saviors that came along all get out the trucks. Arat comes around and yells for them to get started which causes them to file out into the streets and towards the houses. Laura looks over and motions for me to follow her.

"Nope!" Negan's bellows behind me after I start to walk towards Laura. She takes that as a hint to go off without me and treads off in a random direction. I turn around and stare at Negan in confusion. "You're coming with me and the boy," He smirks, "Arat, I want you posted outside while Rick and I have a little chat." The four of us walk in the direction of Carl's house and as we pass people, Negan greets them like their neighbors.

"Here," Arat hands me a holstered glock, "You need to have one at all times when you're away from the compound, understand?" Her tone is neither rude nor is it genial, rather she sounds like a manger who's chiding an employee for not following safety guidelines.

"Yes. Sorry." I fasten the gun on my belt.

"Don't be sorry, just don't let it happen again."

When we get to a house with a bright yellow door, Negan and the kid step up onto the porch and Negan knocks on the door with Lucille. A few seconds later, that heavy set woman from before opens up and Negan strolls in. She looks at Carl who says something to her before going in. I turn around, assuming that I'll be standing with Arat.

"Um, Nan?" I turn my head to find Carl in the open door. "He said for you to come inside." _Oh, what fresh hell?_ I climb the porch steps and follow Carl inside. He ushers me into another room where I can hear that lady fumbling with her words.

"Dooonn't care!" Negan interrupts her. "Where's Rick?" His devilish, toothy grin is likely making her even more nervous.

"He's out scavenging for you." She wrings her hands together.

"Cool, I'll wait for him, because I have to have a few words with the boy's father about his recent behavior."

"Oh, well h-he could be gone for awhile," She tries to dissuade him, probably because of that super tense lemonade session the three of us had the last time we were here.

"Like I said, dear, I have some things to hash out because this young man found his way to my humble abode and gunned down two of my men." The lady looks over at Carl who lowers his head in shame. "So, I don't mind waiting. How's the pull? Anything good?"

"Well, yes, even though we're practically starving." She responds. _Oh, dear._

"Starving?" Negan huffs, amused, "By 'starving' you mean not really, right?" _Asshole!_

The woman's face, bless her heart, crumbles and she turns around and cries at Negan's harsh words. Negan still has a smile on his face when he turns to look at us. "Really? God, what is with you fucking people and not being able to take a damn joke?" His eyes move to me and I know I have a disapproving look on my face. The poor thing's already scared out of her wits by his presence and he has to go and make fat jokes. Negan's smile wanes at the corners a bit and he rolls his eyes before sighing. "Um, excuse me?" The lady turns around, wiping the tears from her eyes. "What's your name again?"

"Olivia." She answers through her teeth.

"Olivia," Negan's voice softens, "I am sorry for having been so rude to you just now. And it looks like I'm gonna be hear awhile. So I think it would be enjoyable, I mean if you are agreeable to it, to fuck you brains out while I wai-" _Crack!_ My jaw drops, not only at Negan's boldness, but because Olivia just slapped him hard across the face. His head whips back towards her and I can't help but put a hand over my mouth with fear for this woman. What would posses her to do something so stupid?! _She just did what we're all thinking._ Negan leans closer to her menacingly. "I am like fifty percent more interested in you, now." He laughs, but the rest of us are still serious. "Alright, Liv, why don't you go make some lemonade, take your time, and I'll watch the kid."

"B-but-"

Negan cuts her off by pointing his finger. "Take your time and make it good." His words are still soft, but firmer. Olivia nods submissively and scurries off to make lemonade. Negan turns on his heel back towards Carl and I and gives a real self-satisfied smile. He gives Carl Lucille to hold and points a mocking finger at him. "Wait til your father gets home!" Negan's, once again, his own best customer with it comes to his own jokes and lets out a throaty chuckles as he wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Alright, kid. Give us the grand tour."

If I've never said it before, let me say it now; Negan is the strangest man I have ever seen. This guy, right before we came here, put an iron to a man's face and now he's wiggling his toes in the plush, white carpet in Carl's bedroom. The Sanctuary doesn't have any carpet, only smooth concrete, so I guess it's nice to see something we all once took for granted. Carl looks at me as I if can explain the eccentric maniac in front of us, but I raise my eyebrows with no answer. When Negan notices Carl's dartboard, he takes a dart from off the board, backs a few feet away, and claims the bull's eye after throwing it. He offers one to Carl, but he shakes his head. He asks for some water after he jokes about Olivia taking forever to bring the lemonade, so we head down stairs to the kitchen.

"Holy fuck, are you shitting me?" Negan is enthralled by the tap water that Carl fills a glass with from the kitchen sink. The factory has running water, but inconsistently and for some reason won't come out of every spout. He flicks turns the faucet on and off a few times like a kid, causing a smirk to form on my face. "That's it, I'm sold on this being the best place in the world." For once, I agree with him. This place is just as breathtaking and awesome as it was the last time. Aside from us being there, these people could've lived normal lives. _Charlie wanted this._ A tiny noise from upstairs causes all of our heads to crane up in wonder. I gaze over to Carl and his face conveys worry.

"What was that?" Negan asks Carl. "You know what? We'll just go check it out." Negan goes for the stairs. When we get to the stairs, Negan puts a hand up, "After you," he grins. I move past his towering figure to go first and try to climb the stairs as rigidly as I can, so my hips won't swing. Negan has me open all the doors to make sure things are clear in the slight chance someone's up here hiding. At the end of the hall, I open the left door and although it's empty, I feel ashamed for prying on the layers of bedding that lie on the floor by some pillows. This barren place must be Rick's bedroom. The lack of a bed reminds me that I didn't see a mattress in Carl's room either, which further reminds me that I burned them. _You didn't have a choice._ Yes, I did and I chose to set them on fire. "What's in this room?" Negan's voice has me look over my shoulder at the door right across from Rick's.

"Oh, that's just the water heater and mop room." Carl tries to lie.

"C'mon kid, who do you think you're kidding here?" Negan opens the door and I hear a soft, whispered 'oh!' from him inside. I stand in the hall and can barely see what's inside since Carl's in the way. 'Nan, come here." Negan beckons. I tread lightly into the room, past Carl, and am awestruck by the discovery. In Negan's cradling arms is a baby girl who looks to be about one year old. My eyes survey the cream-colored nursery and then back at Negan gently adoring the baby. "What a little angel." He kisses her cheek. I don't know what has me so nettled; the hidden baby that is now at Negan's mercy, or how tender he is with her. _Charlie wanted that, too._

Negan packs the baby, Judith; according to Carl, around the rest of the house. Olivia comes back in with a pitcher of lemonade that she nearly drops when she sees Negan with the baby. Her face is pale as a sheet, but she doesn't dare object to him holding Judith. She only offers to take her off of Negan's hand, however Negan declines, handing the baby to Carl just so he could remove his jacket before taking her back. "Who could get tired of such a sweetheart like this?" He motions for me to grab the tray from the counter and then he, the baby, Carl, and I move out to the back porch. There's only two rocking chairs out there and I offer to sit on the porch steps, but Negan insists that Carl be a gentleman and allow me to sit in one of the chairs.

I sit with my hands in my lap and stare off into space by the other houses. My thoughts wander to Charlie among the scenery.

 _"Wow..."_

 _"I don't know if I should take offense to that, or not"_

 _"What? I'm just amazed at the beautiful job you did."_

 _"Amazed? You're well aware that I do this sort of thing for a living, right?"_

 _"Yeah, but I wasn't sure if you could tile a kitchen wall."_

 _"Oh, ye of little faith."_

 _"Your mom's gonna love it."_

 _"Yeah..."He sighs heavily._

 _"The doctor said she should be okay to come home by Thursday."_

 _"Yeah, well, he also said that last surgery would put her in the clear."_

 _I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him, which he returns. I comfortingly rub his back. "Aside from my gran, Norah's the toughest lady I know. She's gonna beat it." He hugs me tighter and the music from Elizabeth's room turns off. "C'mon, handyman," I pat his back and pull away a bit, "Let's take Lizzie to go get some dinner."_

 _"You're okay with staying here tonight? My dad can come back, if not."_

 _"No, it's okay. Beside, it'll be nice to eat breakfast and bask in the beauty of that gorgeous tile."_

 _He laughs lightly. "Well, stick with me kid and you're life will be filled with gorgeous tile," He leans down and continues to speak between kisses, "And paint, and laminent floors, and all the other shit I can do."_

 _"Careful, you're getting me all hot and bothered." I chuckle._

 _"Is that right?" He snickers against my lips._

 _"Whoops, sorry!" Elizabeth shyly calls behind us._

"Nan!" I turn my head towards Negan who's peering over at me with Judith's head under his chin. She's lying back against his chest as he calmly rocks the chair. "Earth to Nan, come in Nan." I blink at him and wait for him to speak. "I was just tellin' the kid here how wonderful it'd be to move here. What are your thoughts?"

 _What are my thoughts?_ "I, um-"

"I mean, why the hell am I trying so hard with these people, if it's just gonna bite me in that ass later?" He resituates the baby and holds her out to face him. "I could just kill the kid and his dad and bury in them in that flower bed over there. And then settle down to the suburbs!" His tone is softened as Judith looks directly at him. "What do you say about that, huh? Would you like that?" Negan then pecks her on the lips before standing up. "I gotta take a piss. Here, hold the kid."

My eyes grow distressed as he hands me Judith and I awkwardly take her. She looks at me with little furrowed brows and I faintly smile, expecting her to cry. It's not that I don't like babies; it's just that they can sense fear, or weakness and therefore don't like me. _Even infants can tell you're weak._ But, to my surprise, she doesn't so much as whimper. It makes me smile a little more confidently. Negan clears his throat and I glance over to see him smiling which oddly makes me blush. He chuckles and then nods to the door for us to follow him inside.

So, Negan snooped through the cabinets in Rick's bathroom and found a straight razor. And since he has no sense of boundaries, he decides that it's a good time to use the razor to shave. Part of the way through, the smell of a wet diaper gives me an excuse to leave, so I don't have to watch him shave.

After looking for Olivia and even calling her, I ultimately resolve to change Judith myself in her nursery when Olivia is nowhere to be found. When that's done, I pick her up and she rests her head on my shoulder with a yawn. A tiny hand takes some of my hair and musses it between fingers as well as turning it as if she's inspecting it. As I attempt to lower her down into the crib, Judith lets out a whine and tightens her grip on me, so I lift her back up. After a few seconds of just standing still, I try delicately swaying her side to side. Judith's ease with a stranger holding her, rocking her to sleep pains me. If only she knew that I'm not a good person, as far as her community's concerned, and that the man swooning over her earlier is capable of terrible, awful things. She nestles against me and lets out a peaceful little sigh and I put my cheek on the top of her wispy, honey-blonde curls.

"Go lightly from the ledge, babe," I begin to sing with a raspy, hushed voice.

"Go lightly on the ground

I'm not the one you want, babe

I will only let you down."

An image of Charlie smiling comes into mind.

"You say you're lookin' for someone

Who will promise never to part

Someone to close his eyes for you

Someone to close his heart

Some who will die for you and more,

But it ain't me babe,

No, no, no, it ain't me babe

It ain't me you're lookin' for babe."

I turn lightly around when I hear the door creak a bit. Negan, cleanly shaved, is standing in the doorframe, while Carl looks in from the hall. Embarrassed, I go over to the crib and gently place the sleeping baby down, draping a blanket over her. I clear my throat and hate that I can feel heat rising in my face. Negan's gaze is unsettling and I quietly move to the door. "Um," I whisper as I look up at him, "We should go, so she can sleep."

Negan steps aside and as I pass him, a thrill breezes through me but I keep walking down the hall to the stairs. _Be still, you stupid heart._ I go to the kitchen for some water. Negan and Carl come in a few minutes later. Negan claps his hands and rubs them together. "How bout we get some dinner started for when Pop gets home, huh?"

He goes over to the pantry and musters up some boxes of spaghetti noodles. "Any chance you've got tomatoes around here?" Carl nods before going into the fridge and opening it to produce a bowl of big round tomatoes. "Unbelievable," Negan notes as he ties an apron around his waist, "you people really live too comfortably. Oh, look flour. Perfect, now we can have some rolls with dinner. Nan, this is your time to shine!" He tosses me the sack of flour and I catch it in my stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

Negan dices the tomatoes while humming atonally, while Carl gets out some bowls and utensils to make the rolls. I wash my hands and begin pour the flour into a glass bowl. "Um, do you know how?" Carl asks at my side.

"Of course, she does," Negan, answers before I get the chance, which is insanely annoying, "This gal use to bake bread every damn day, til she got promoted!" I roll my eyes in Carl direction and grin slightly when he does. As Negan fiddles around the spice rack, I teach Carl how to make dough. I really didn't expect him to be such a polite kid, but I guess it's not fair to forget that he is just a kid who's had to adapt to the new, harsh world just like the rest of us.

I take it upon myself to go to the fridge and open it. There are four eggs in the little plastic egg caddy on the top shelf. I've seen the crops they're growing, but I have yet to see chickens. _Where are they getting the eggs?_ I take two and find a smaller bowl.

"What are those for?' Carl asks as he rolls the dough out. I walk pass Negan to the spice rack and grab some "garlic parmesan" seasoning.

"Don't roll 'em too thin, otherwise they'll rise funny." I crack the eggs, using the shells to filter out the egg whites into a bowl and then whisking in a tad bit of water. "Just a little something extra." Once I finish, I begin cutting out the rolls from the rolled out dough with a round cookie cutter and placing them on a metal sheet. Negan's leaning over the pot of sauce he's making, wafting the air. As he does, I notice his left wrist is bandaged up. _What happened?_ He dips a wooden spoon in the pot and test tastes it.

"Mm, Want a taste?" He brings the spoon over to Carl who just rolls his eye. "Nan?" Negan strolls over to me and holds the spoon up to my mouth. "Don't hurt my feelings, now." He smiles. I lean over and put my lips up to the spoon, which makes his smile falter, but he doesn't seem to be upset. His eyes gaze down at me and my breath suspends in my chest. "It's fuckin' good, right?"

"Nan?" I look over at Carl and smile meekly. "I think the rolls are ready for that stuff." _Phew, thanks, Carl._

"Okay." We both gingerly pour tiny spoonfuls of the glaze on the unbaked rolls and spread it on top. As I begin to sprinkle the seasoning on top, Negan reaches over and runs a thumb across the side of my forehead. When I start back, he snickers.

"Relax, doll. You have some flour on you."

I wipe my hands on a rag and move to leave the room. "I'll go wash it off," I short stop and turn to look at Carl, "Can you put the rolls in the oven?" He nods which sends me on my way to the bathroom. I take the steps quietly, but two at a time and go into the bathroom. There are some cloths on a rack behind the toilet, so I take one and run it under some warm water. With my face clean of flour, I turn the water cold and cup my hands to splash some water in my face. _Shake it off, champ._ After I turn the faucet off, I hear the baby crying in her room and sigh as I exit to go get her.

When I get back down stairs, Olivia's back and her face appears to be relieved that not only did someone more kinder than Negan has come in, but that Judith isn't in his hands. _He wouldn't hurt the baby._ I've come to realize that, but Olivia and Carl wouldn't put it past him. "Here," I extend Judith to Olivia who gladly takes her, "She was napping."

"Thank you." Olivia smiles gratefully. She then exits the room with the baby and I'm once again alone with the kid and Negan.

"How long til we take 'em out?" Carl draws my attention back to the kitchen. Negan's head turns to me while he mixes the noodles and homemade sauce in a bowl.

"Twenty-five minutes, or so." I scratch at my thumb and glance out the window at some townspeople standing or sitting outside, while the Saviors are searching their houses.

"Perfect," Negan grins, taking out some glances and a clear bottle of scotch, "That'll give us time for a little pre-dinner sauce." He chuckles as he pours scotch into two glasses. "Want a taste, Carl? C'mon, after what you did today, I think taking a sip of a scotch will just fuckin' fly under the radar with your dad."

The tension in the room is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Olivia comfortingly rubs Judith's back after she silently fed her some oatmeal. Carl and I sit in discomfort as something brews behind Negan's eyes. He's having us wait for Rick, but it's been at least twenty minutes since Carl and I set the table. I'm sitting across from Negan and occasionally stare down at him, but his gaze is elsewhere. Eventually, he picks Lucille up and sets her on the chair across from Carl and sighs.

"I'm done waiting for your dad," He tucks a napkin into his shirt collar like a bib, "I don't where the hell he is, but I didn't slave over a hot stove for the last hour for the fuckin' food to get cold." His temperment picks up again and he reaches for the spaghetti with a smile. "Carl, pass me the rolls...please."

I twirl the noodles around my fork with a sudden loss of appetite. Hate to admit it, but the sauce Negan made tasted great and I was kind of looking forward to having spaghetti. In my opinion, spaghetti counts as a luxury, since most of my meals consist of stale crackers and expired protein bars. However, every time I bring the fork up and get a whiff of it, something nauseates me and prevents me from taking a bite.

"What's wrong, sweetheart, don't like spaghetti?" Negan says as he takes bite from a roll. His eyes dramatically roll in the back of his head. "Ah! These are some fucking damn good rolls. Bravo, you two." When Negan's eye meet mine again, he raises his brows, waiting for me to answer his question.

"No, I do. I'm just not hungry." _In fact, I think I might throw up._ "Excuse me." I hastily scoot my chair back and head to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, it's clear to me that I'm not going to vomit after all, but I remain there for a few minutes to be alone; sitting on the edge of the bathtub. I just want to go home. I look out the window with either hope, or delusion that I'll see Dwight' blonde hair catch the sunlight as he passes by. _He's done with you._ I know, but at least if he were here, I could have tagged along with him, raiding the houses. _Could you have?_ The door abruptly opens and, to my misery, it's Negan.

"Not blowin' chunks in here, are ya?" He removes the napkin bib from his shirt and closes the door behind him. I shake my head 'no' while standing up.

"I'm fine," I try to leave, but Negan doesn't move, "I'm going to go clean the kitchen."

"No you're not," He smiles as he tucks my hair behind my ear, "Rick can do the damn dishes and clean his own fuckin' kitchen." I nod and attempt to move past him, but he towers over me, causing me to look up at him.

"I'm fine, really." I murmur.

"You sure? 'Cause you look a little green around the gills there, sweetheart," The back of his hand touches my forehead and sweeps down to my cheek.

"Yes, I'm sure." I take his hand and remove it from my face. Negan takes my hand from his and closes his fingers around my mine, bringing it up to his mouth. I watch, still as a statue, as he presses his lips to the palm of my hand, wrist, and down my arm. His other arm reaches over and draws me closer to him. "What are you doing?"

"Something that's been a long time coming." He twirls my hair back behind my shoulder, glances down at my lips, and without warning; Negan puts his mouth down on mine. Unlike the other times, I don't push myself away. Instead, I close my eyes and release the tension in my shoulders. My hand mechanically reaches up, placing itself on his bicep, while the other rests in the crook of his elbow. The taste of scotch transfers from his mouth to mine and his cologne fills the space between us.

 _"It's okay"_ The image of Dwight gazing down at me as I place my hand on his scars appears in my head. I shift my shoulders and I step back to bring myself up on the counter. Negan puts a knee to mine and nudges himself in between my legs as we continue making out. _"It's okay."_

I open my eyes and push him away. "I'm sorry, I can't." I apologize breathlessly.

Negan sighs, clearly pissed. "Why the hell not?" He places his hands on both sides of the counter. When I hang my head in silence, Negan leans down and kisses me softly. "C'mon, baby. What Dwight doesn't know, won't hurt him. If you still want him, afterwards." He snickers while his lips caress mine.

His mention of Dwight makes me scowl and I extend my hand out to push him off. "I said no," I slide myself off the counter, "and this has nothing to do with Dwight." _Then why do you feel so guilty?_

"Really?" Negan licks his bottom lip. "What is it, then? That 'self preservation' bullshit you were talking about earlier?"

"Precisely." I glance up at him. Negan's eye squint at me, surveying my face for any signs of falsehood. His smile dwindles after a moment.

"Ouch," He chuckles bitterly, "Well, I'm real fucking sorry for offending you, Nan." Arat's sharp voice can be heard outside and both our eyes flicker to the window, then back at each other. It sounds like she's arguing with someone. Negan's arm reaches over and opens the door without looking away from me. "Go see what the problem is."

As eager as I was to leave a second ago, I hesitate before looking down and moving out into the hall. Once I hear the door close behind me with Negan still inside, I hurry down the stairs. Olivia passes me on the way up with a sleeping Judith.

I walk pass Carl towards the front porch. "Are you okay?" Carl asks behind me. I raise my hand up to let him know I am, as I go out the door. Outside, I see Arat telling a man to back up and leave. When his eyes look up at me, Arat turns around.

"He wants to talk to Negan." She explains.

"Can you help me out?" He says to me. "I just want to talk to him is all."

Arat's about to tell him no, but I don't give her the chance. "I'll go tell him and see what he thinks."

I find Negan sitting in the same chair he was at dinner with a glass of scotch in his hand. "What's the issue?" He asks without looking at me.

"There's a guy outside who wants to talk to you," I eye the glass, "He's got a bottle of bourbon, or something with him."

Negan stands up and hands me the glass before sauntering outside. I take the remaining swig from it and place it down on the table. I then go off to find Carl, who's in the living room. "Everything okay?" I clear my throat. He looks over at me with what looks like tears coming from his unscathed eye. Carl quickly wipes his eye with the back of his hand.

"Yeah," He stands up from the chair he was sitting on, "Will Daryl be hurt for what I did?"

"He'll be okay," I assure him, "If Negan was going to punish him for your actions, he would've done it in front of you."

"He's a monster," he slightly snaps, "He killed my friends and now he's in my house like it was nothing. Like we're friends."

"I know." I sigh, exhausted. Negan hollers with what sounds like joy outside, so I'm assuming that the guy has something good.

"If you know then how can you take up with them?" Carl's question makes me turn my head to him with furrowed brows.

"There's nowhere else to go." I croak. Heavy strides can be heard coming this way.

"Anna!" I turn around at Negan's cheery tone. _He knows my real name?_ "You, the kid, and Olivia get your asses outside for some fresh air. It's a beautiful day and my new friend, Spencer has a pool table."

When the three of us go outside to sit on the porch, the Saviors are moving a pool table out into the middle of the street. Some of them and some townsfolk gather around to watch this spectacle. A handsome albeit coniving, man by the name of Spencer and Negan are chatting about Rick, who still hasn't shown up, while playing pool. Spencer coolly attests at how much better a leader he would be than Rick.

"Rick doesn't work well with others," He knocks a ball into a corner pocket, "Ever since he came to here, he's brought nothing but death and despair."

"And you think you'd be better suited as leader than Rick?" Negan's brow furrow as he walks around the table.

"I am my mother's son. She was a great congresswoman. She, along with my brother and father, died not long after Rick Grimes stepped foot in Alexandria."

"Goddamn! He made you an orphan? That's the saddest fuckin' thing I've ever heard." Negan chuckles. "But Rick's not in charge anymore."

"That doesn't matter. Rick has too big an ego to let anyone else have control," Spencer blatantly says without regard to any of his peers' angry faces, "He'll screw things up and people will get hurt in the process."

"So, what do you purpose I do about him?" Negan moseys over to the same side of the table as Spencer.

"I may not agree with your methods, but I respect your leadership and am willing to comply. You want people to contribute and work towards a greater good. I want that too. Rick is unpredictable and can't be trusted. I can be what this place needs. What you need."

"So, what? I should put you in charge?" Negan looks over at him. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he isn't impressed, but Spencer doesn't know that. He just nods his head. "You know what I'm thinkin' Spencer? I'm thinkin' about how that prick threatened to kill me. How he hates my fuckin' guts, but still...he is out there working hard to provide for me, so I don't have to hurt any of the lovely people here." Negan bends down to shoot another ball. "Despite everything, Rick has swallowed his fucking pride and hatred and has gone to work for me. That takes guts." My heartbeat picks up as Negan approaches Spencer. "And then there's you, Spence. You wait for Rick to be gone and then you can tiptoe over to me and ask me to do your dirty work, so you can take Rick's place. Which makes me have to ask; why don't you just kill Rick yourself and fucking take over?"

Spencer starts to realize his mistake and can't mask the nervousness in his face as Negan comes closer. _You dumb asshole._ How could he think Negan would respect him after such a cowardly, snake-like move for power? I don't know much about Negan, but even I could tell you that he admires people of action rather than those who try to scheme behind other's backs. Although, I think pretty much anyone would feel the same.

"I think the reason why is that you just don't have the guts." Negan smirks. Spencer fumbles with his words, trying to back track, but it won't do him any- _OH MY GOD!_ Out of nowhere, Negan stabs Spencer with the huge buck knife he keeps on his side. Some of the townsfolk gasp at the sight, Olivia cups her mouth as she whimpers, and I just stand frozen in horror. "Am I right? Do you not have guts?" Just as I thought it wouldn't get worse, Negan rips him open and blood pours out of his abdomen before his intestines buldge out of the gaping wound.

Spencer gags and his hands reach down and hold his guts as he begins to cough out blood. Shortly after, he collapses to the ground and dies, bleeding out on the road. All, but Negan and most of the Saviors look on in disgust and terror.

"Oh man!" Negan laughs as he peers down at the body. "You did have guts after all. They were inside you this whole time? I have never been so wrong in my whole life! My bad!" He turns around to reveal blood on not only his clothes, but splattered on his face like it's nothing. He looks over at me and I stare at him with both contempt and fear. His smile falters a bit and he turns to the townspeople. "Someone clean that up. And since he's no longer with us...anyone wanna take over the game? Oh, c'mon! I was winning."

A gunshot goes off and I jolt as well as blink for the first time since Negan stabbed Spencer. My eyes frantically work to find where it came from and it doesn't take me long to seek out the source. It's that woman who Dwight was grilling the other day...what's her name, again? She's holding a gun that's pointed at Negan, but when I flick my eyes to him I see that he's still standing. Arat floors her instantly and every other Savior pulls out their guns, pointing them at the Alexandrians. Negan turns Lucille around and looks at her with searing eyes.

"What the fuck?" He yells through his teeth. "What the fuck? You tried to kill me?" He furiously stomps over to the woman with Lucille raised. "You shot Lucille!"

"She was in the way!" The woman boldly shouts at him. Negan paces back for a second and looks off to the side, bending down to pick something up.

"What is this?" He goes back over to her. "Is this homemade?" _A bullet casing?_ Negan inspects it closely. "Yeah, someone here made this. Look at those crimps. Who was it?"

"Me." She fearlessly claims. "I made it."

"Oh, really? 'Cause I think you're a fuckin' liar, darlin'. So, why don't you tell me the truth, or Arat's gonna have to cut up your pretty face. Lucille's never gonna a flawless complexion, again, so why should you?"

Arat puts a knife up to the woman's face, but she just lifts her head, unafraid, causing the blade to pierce her skin. "It. Was. Me." She sneers.

Negan chuckles. "Wow! What a bad ass!" He looks up at the crowd. "Alright, if it has to be the hard way, then...Arat, kill someone."

Arat pulls out her gun and despite the woman's pleading shrieks, she turns her torso and fires. My face loses all color as I stare at Arat's gun pointed towards my direction. Except, it isn't me who's been shot. My eyes widen down at Olivia on her back with her eyes cold and open and blood coming from her cheekbone. I crouch down to inspect her and so does Carl. He gives me an angry look and I don't blame him.

"Alright, so who was it that made the bullet?" Negan bellows out. "Well, hello, Rick!" Through the porch railing, I can see Rick as he helps a guy who looks badly beaten to another guy, before stalking over. He's heaving with exhaustion and fury. His eyes rest on Spencer's unturned body.

"Why have you done this?" He growls.

"Oh, you don't get to ask questions, Rick. Not after the day I've had," Negan beams, "For fuckin' starters, your kid snuck onto one of my trucks, came into my home, and machined gunned two of my people. And what did I do? I brought him home, safe and sound. And I fed him spaghetti." Rick whips his head around towards the house and Carl stand ups immediately with a look of shame on his face, as he stares back at his father. Negan's face drops at the sight of me. "Nan!" He shouts and I stand up and go around Olivia and Carl to come off the porch. I stop when I'm a few feet from Arat who's still holding down the woman. Negan's dark eyes soften as they move to Rick and his humor is back. "Anyway, as if watching your kids wasn't kind enough of me, this guy," Negan points to Spencer with Lucille, "he wanted me to kill you, so he could lead in your place, so I killed him for you. And on top of that...this little lady shot Lucille with a homemade bullet, trying to kill me." Rick looks down at the woman in shock. "So I had Arat kill someone, give you one less mouth to feed and by the looks of it; she did some major damage. Frankly, I wouldn't have chosen her, but Arat didn't trust her I guess. So, it's been a hell of a day waiting for you, Rick! How about a little gratitude?"

Rick glares up at him in contempt. "Your shit is waiting for you in the trucks up front, so why don't you just take it and go."

"Well, I'd love to, as soon as I find the man or woman who made this bullet. Nan!" He looks over at me and I freeze. "Why don't you go ahead and kill one of these fine people, since no one seems to have fessed up, yet?" His eyes pierce me, defying me to disobey his order. I reach for my gun and point it towards the guy who already looks to be in bad shape. Him and the man who's holding him up raise their hands as if to beg me not to. An aching lump hardens in my throat as my finger begins to curl around the trigger. _Don't do this!_

"Stop! Stop, it was me!" The woman cries and my finger lightens up.

"No, it was me!" Another woman calls out.

"No, it wasn't!" A portly man with a mullet whimpers out. "It was me and only me!" He cries as he holds his fists up to his face with his eyes squeezed shut. Negan encroaches upon him, which only makes him more afraid. He begins to dispense what appears to be the process of making a bullet to prove to Negan he's telling the truth.

"Shut up," Negan says, "I believe you." Negan then turns around and holds Lucille up to his own face, almost putting his forehead to the wire. "Lucille, give me strength!" I cock an eyebrow and lower my gun to my side. _He's truly insane._ "I'll be relieving you of your bullet maker, Rick. And whatever you have for me at the gates. And, just so you know, whatever you've managed to scavenge is not fuckin' good enough, because after today, you are still in serious shit." Rick nods slightly in understanding. "Let's move out!" Negan shouts and all the Saviors start to clear out towards the gates.

One guy grabs the bullet maker by the shirt collar and yanks him along. The woman who had the gun has blood trailing down her face as she sits up. "No, no please! Take me instead! Take me!" She screams out, but no one listens. My chest burns and I despondently look back at Carl who glares at me as if he's on the verge of tears, or murder. As I turn back to begin dragging myself to the gates, my eyes catch those of the guy I aimed for, as well as the man who he's leaning on. I don't even try to give an apologetic pair of eyes to them, since it won't matter to them either way. Not after all that's transpired. I hear Negan tell Rick about the condition of his kitchen behind me.

When I get up to the front of the community, I see Laura, Davy, and Gary standing around; unfazed by any of the commotion. Davy's dabbing his bloody knuckles with the end of his shirt and it becomes evident that he's responsible for what happened to the guy I almost shot. Laura spots me and her cool countenance lessens a bit.

"You okay?" She steps towards me. Gary and Davy glance over.

"I'm fine." I dejectedly respond.

"Some people aren't cut out for this shit." Davy sneers to Gary. I honestly don't even remember storming myself over to him and pistol-whipping him with the gun still in my hand. There's a small cracking sound as the gun strikes his nose. As his eyes close and he brings up his hand to hold his nose, I hit him again before Gary grabs me by the arms and pulls me back

"Whoa, kid, simmer down!" He sharply says to me in a low tone as he grabs my wrist and forces me to drop the gun. Davy steps forward in anger.

"Let her go, Gary." Laura tugs at his arm.

"I will," Gary assures her, "Just as soon as Davy gets a hit in. It's only fair." I struggle against him but he straightens me out. "Fucking hold still! Davy?" Davy grins as he rears back and slams his fist into my eye. My vision is blurry and I would have slunked to the ground, if Gary wasn't holding me up. I feel a hand push my head back up.

"Hey, no!" Laura yells out. "You already got your hit in!"

"The cunt hit me twice, so shut the fuck up!" Davy snarls. I rail against Gary to break free, when suddenly a burning sensation rips into my shoulder along with a popping sound and I shout out in pain. Apparently, I'm not the only one who heard the sound because Gary releases me.

"Alright, alright, that's enough!" Gary claims, "You're even, big guy." Davy didn't hit me a second time, but for somehow I'm in worse pain. My eyes are winced close, but I find out why Gary makes Davy let off.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Negan's voice is placid, but nonetheless, dark.

"Nan struck Davy with the her gun, twice, so I let him even things out." Gary explains candidly.

I feel a hand slip under my back and push me to sit up. I sharply suck in air through my teeth at the gnarly pain in my shoulder. _Something's wrong._ "Easy." Laura says as she helps me onto my feet. My eyes open and meet Negan's severe face. "Oh, shit. I think your shoulder might be dislocated." Laura lightly touches a spot that makes me flinch.

Negan hands Lucille over to Laura, then walks behind me. I wince as he lifts my arm back and with one blunt movement, sets my shoulder back into place. As much as it kills me to admit, a few boiling tears slip out as I gasp in pain. Negan pats my shoulder for good measure, furthering my discomfort. "Have Carson look at it when we get back. We're moving out." He takes the gun from off the ground and hands it back to me.

"C'mon." Laura gently rubs my back.

"Nope, she's riding with me," We look over at him, "You're driving, so get a fuckin' move on. I've had enough suburban life for one day." I grip my shoulder and walk over to the truck. The pain is excruciating, but I force myself to climb up into the truck. I hear Negan say something about not behaving like a 'pack of fucking jackals' before he yanks open the passenger door and gets in. "Go."

We're both quiet for a few miles, but all I can focus on is ignoring the agony in my shoulder. I manage to lift it enough so that my hand can at least hold the one side of the steering wheel, even though it's torture every time the truck hits a bump or something in the road. My mind sets on all the chaos of the last hour in Alexandria. Everything went south so fast _. You almost killed someone._


	18. Reconcile

The car ride back to the Sanctuary is mostly silent. I spend the majority of it avoiding potholes and jaywalking roamers in an attempt to spare my shoulder any grief. Negan occasionally back talks in the radio whenever someone's voice comes through, but other than that, he's quiet. Unlike with Hal, or even Dwight, this silence is uncomfortable. Negan loves the sound of his own voice, so every time he isn't chin wagging, I feel on edge. The sun hides behind the trees and will dip below the horizon before we get back. From time to time, I look into the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of my bruising, likely swelling eye.

My brain keeps replaying what happened in the bathroom and Negan gutting Spencer simultaneously, as if they happened concurrently. As if one lead to the other although I know that's completely irrational. I didn't know Spencer, but from the things he was saying, I suppose Negan may have done Rick a favor. Still, no one deserves to die like that. Poor Olivia, too. I didn't know Olivia either, but I know she really didn't deserve to die. Ah! _Focus on the road, idiot!_ That bump in the road really jarred my shoulder badly.

"Say again?" Negan speaks into the radio. The guy who was talking before sounds like he's back at the factory and wasn't really addressing Negan.

"I said we have two dead workers in the quarters." The voice repeats for Negan.

"How the fuck did that happen?" He asks. I glance over in time to see him roll his eyes, like he never has a moment's respite.

"One of them died in her sleep and then ripped into the poor bastard to the right of her. Over."

"Jesus," Negan says irritably and then puts the radio back up to his mouth, "What'd the first one die from?"

"Not sure, yet, Dan's getting Carson. Over." The voice answers back.

"Have Keller burn 'em, immediately." Negan orders.

"Copy that."

Negan taps Lucille on the floor lightly in thought. I myself am curious to know what the first worker died of, if that's what he's thinking about. My second month at the Sanctuary, there was a bad flu that hit the factory and almost everyone got sick, even Negan and his wives. There were five deaths; three were elderly and borderline frail, while the other two had preexisting health issues. Still, nowadays, we're more suscepitable to sicknesses that might sweep through the factory since the medicine and medical equipment we have is limited. We can't have something for every problem, or every one that has a medical problem. Illnesses that could be easily quelled in the old world, could kill you in the new.

"Do you really think it would degrading to be with me?" Negan asks out of nowhere. I turn my head to find him staring at me. What can I say to him that won't result in him flaying me in front of the whole factory? After what I just saw at Alexandria, who would blame me for saying 'yes, I do think it would be degrading'? Before I can even form some idea of how to answer, the radio cracks and a voice enters the cab.

"This is Chase, over."

"Alright, what do ya got?" Negan answers back, turning his head from me.

"Carson said the woman who died had a miscarriage a few days ago and seems to have died from a bad infection. Keller's burning them both now. Over." My head goes back in Negan's direction and my eyes stare dreadfully at the radio. Sharon? _How can that be?_ She was getting the meds that she needed to recover.

"Watch the road." Negan firmly tells me before putting the radio up to his mouth, "Good. Make sure the factory's ventilated, otherwise we'll be smelling that shit for days."

 **...**

We're silent for the rest of the ride back. Negan's comment on the smell of burning bodies is horrifically rich, coming from a guy whose base is surrounded by rotting, dead people. Also, it's infuriating for him to be so insensitive about their deaths. Two less pair of hands to dig the earth for him, I guess. It's dark when we get back, but there are Saviors outside, waiting to unload the trucks. Dwight's nowhere in sight and I'm pissed that I'm so bothered by his absence. Negan gets out of the vehicle before me and I open my door with hesitation. I swing my legs over to get out, but I'm debating how I'm going to climb down without further agony to my shoulder. Just I'm about to move, Negan comes around and extends a hand.

"Need some help getting out, bruiser?" He smirks. I reluctantly take his hand, thinking he might take this as an opportunity to get revenge for me rejecting him. However, Negan helps me down without an ounce of animosity. "Nice and easy." He says as I step down, taking the liberty of touching the small of my back as I do. An unwelcome feeling comes over me and just as if the gods decided to punish me for it, Dwight comes out of the factory entrance, descending the stairs. Negan turns to answer some guy's question and I decide to leave to go see Carson. I hold my arm by the elbow to keep my shoulder steady.

Dwight walks towards Negan with an attempt to ignore my existance, but as soon as I tread past him, I catch him double take and hear his footsteps sharply scratch against the gravel. "What happened to you?" I don't answer him and keep walking, although my chest pathetically leaps at the hint of concern in his voice. Negan calls him over and so the sound of his footsteps getting farther away from me is the last I hear before climbing the concrete steps.

As I enter the building, I can see a few workers gathered in what must be mourning over the loss of Sharon and whomever she had killed when she turned. I want so desperately to go down and find Hal, but I know the workers would see it as an intrusion and I don't have it in me tonight to argue, or assert my rank over them.

 **...**

Carson greets me pleasantly as I enter the infirmary. I can tell he was about to leave for the night by the rigid organization of the room. "I can come back in the morning." I suggest.

"No, please, sit," he insists, "It won't take more than five minutes to examine you." Carson checks to see if my shoulder was properly relocated into it's socket and after confirming that it is, he walks over to the medicine cabinet.

"I don't want any meds." I weakly say.

"Are you sure? The pain might make it a little uncomfortable for you to sleep tonight." Carson slides open one of the glass doors and fiddles around.

"I doubt that..." A sudden heaviness weighs on me, "I'm exhausted."

"At least take an ibuprofen." Carson hands me one and I submit to take it. He hands me a glass of water and asks that I take it there. "Just to make sure you take it." He smiles politely. Am I that transparent that the doctor knew I would have tossed it if he hadn't made me take it in front of him?

"What happen to her?" I ask with a raspy voice. Carson immediately knows whom I'm talking about and his smile sinks.

"She was about two, maybe three months along and-"

"Really?" I interrupt in shock. She said that Ronnie had been assaulting her way before that night, but how could she have been that pregnant without anyone knowing? She did wear loose-fitting clothing, but not that loose.

"Yes," Carson clears his throat, putting his hands in his coat pockets, "Anyway, I can't say for sure, but sometimes when these things happen; not everything miscarries. There might have been some tissue still stuck in the womb and I'm afraid that if that was the case, I don't have what would have been necessary to help her." I nod my head solemnly as hands me a sling. "Very tragic. She seemed like a sweet person."

"She was," I weakly, claim, "Goodnight and thank you." I try to put on a smile, but I can tell by how he sympathetically smiles back that I'm not doing a very good job at it.

"Goodnight."

As I close the infirmary door behind me, my face drops morosely as I make my way down the hall to the stairs. Sharon and I weren't close, that being perhaps my fault, but she was a good, kind person. She, aside from Hal, never turned her face from mine when I first started working with Dwight. Even when Hal faltered a little, Sharon still treated me with the same amity that she treated everyone with. Ow!

"Whoa, watch your footing, sweetheart." Negan steadies me after I mindlessly crashed into him as I turned the corner.

"I'm sorry," I numbly mutter, "I was just...coming back from the...infirmary."

"What are the pain meds kickin' in that fast?" He chuckles at my lethargic tone.

"He told me about Sharon." I despondently tell.

"Who's Sharon?"

"Who's...?" _Does he honestly not know?_ "She's the woman who just died. The one...the one who-"

"Oh," Negan loses his mirthful look, "Right." _He didn't know her name._ "Come with me." He beckons with two fingers as he goes around me towards the stairs that will take him up top.

"I think Dwight wanted to talk to me." How long can I keep up the charade that Dwight and I are still churning butter, just to keep Negan at bay? _Not like it really works._

"I don't care." Negan turns on his heels. "Besides, he doesn't seem to be in that big a rush to 'speak with you'," he air quotes, "since he's out there now, smoking with Laura." I know he's trying to strike a nerve, but that possibility is enough to make me give in to following him.

We ascend to the floor where Negan and his wives live. The floor is dead silent which I'm guessing means that the ladies have turned in for the night. There are other doors up here, I wonder if they sleep in them, whenever they're not with Negan. Negan nudging my knee to get in between my legs in the bathroom disrupts my thoughts. _Stop!_ Negan stops inside the room where I had previously seen his wives and goes over to what looks to be a bar. I listen to the tiny clanking of glasses and liquid pouring. Negan walks back out of the room with two glasses filled with amber colored alcohol.

When we get to Negan's door, he opens it and goes inside. "What you want a written invitation?" I hear him shout from inside and so I enter with heavy reservations. When I step in, Negan orders me to close the door and I do. Still as prey that's resolved to die, I stand by the doors, analyzing him as he moves about the room. _His face is clean._ The whole drive back here; I kept wondering why he hadn't wiped the blood off his face. Even though I didn't take anything strong, I feel like my senses are dulling about me like a dream. The room smells like the cologne he wore today. Negan removes his jacket and then his blood speckled shirt, changing into a fresh one he pulled from a drawer. "What the hell's the matter with you?" He startles me to blink. "Sit down," I drift over to the same chair I sat in the last time I was here, "Jesus, I turn around and you're standing there like fucking ghost, woman." Negan chuckles.

"I'm sorry," I speak dully, "I'm just tired is all." Negan offers me one of the glasses as he sits directly across from me on the leather sofa.

"Have a nightcap." He smiles as he tilts his back. I put mine on the glass coffee table, untouched. I have to keep my already fraying wits about me. "What a fucking day, huh?"

"Why did you let her have the medicine in advance?" I dryly inquire. Negan's eyes read my face with faltering humor. "Sharon...the woman who died."

"Because she needed it." He answers briefly, taking another swig from his glass.

"People need meds all the time," I point out, "But they don't get it, unless they can afford it." That is, after all, why he approached Dwight's sister-in-law, right? She needed medicine she couldn't afford, so he offered to marry her out the "kindness" of his heart. _He knew what he was doing._

"Yeah, well, it's a little different, isn't it?" Negan seems to be getting frustrated.

"Were you planning on marrying her?" I sleepily raise a brow.

"No, I wasn't."

"Well, then how-"

"Excuse me?" Negan sits up as if I just said something utterly insulting. "Are you questioning me, Nan?" I claw at my thumb and timidly, and perhaps foolishly, nod my head. _Have you lost your marbles?_

"I just-"

" _You_ ," Negan growls, standing up," You do not get to question my authority, do you understand me?" I nod my head meekly. "And _I_...do not have to explain myself to you. Do you understand that?"

I feel like a bobble head, but again, I nod. "Yes."

"Good." He leans back in the sofa, pissed. My eyes inch over to the dresser where he got his clean shirt from and where Lucille is currently rested against.

"I...," I begin to speak, but my words stick in my throat. My tear-glossed eyes blink up to meet his hardened gaze, "It's not fair." _Life's not fair._

"I hate to fuckin' break it you, Nan, but life's not fair." Negan's words make me feel as if he read my mind. "She was the one you saved the other night, right?"

I sniff to keep the tears back. "She was."

"That's why it was different." Negan's face becomes somber as his eyes look off somewhere. I think I now understand why he did it and it has an odd sway on me. It falls under the "provide security for others" category in his mind. Perhaps he felt obligated to help Sharon since one of his men was ultimately responsible for all her troubles. Rape is huge no-no around here, with death being the price you pay for violating that rule. I guess I just assumed that Negan killed the offender and then went about his day like it was any other. It's strange to see him so vexed by the idea of something he apparently abhors to have happened in his Sanctuary.

"Well," I let out a small yawn, "Thank you for trying to save her." I'm faintly aware of my own words for a few moments until my eyes lazily move up to his and catch the same unsettling gaze he had earlier when I was singing to Judith. _You just sincerely thanked him._ "Um, because she was good lady who never hurt anyone...as far as I know, anyway."

"Unlike you." He flatly chuckles. When I blink at him, puzzled, he smiles to clarify. "I pegged you for a mild-mannered gal, but then every other day you're scuffling around with Davy, or some other fuckwit. Which is getting a little old, if you ask me." I lower my eyes. _If Davy would just drop dead, there wouldn't_ _be any more altercations between us._ "No more of it, do you hear me? Especially in front of our mules."

"Yes." I murmur. Why I am up here?

"Good girl," He smirks, finishing off his drink, "Now, do you remember what I asked you earlier? In the truck?"

"Yes," I swallow the ache in my throat, "I remember."

"I didn't get an answer from you, sweetheart."

"Chase radioed you about Sharon before I could." My drained response is hardly an answer and more like just stating the obvious. Negan takes the radio from his belt and twists the knob to turn it off.

"What's stopping you from answering me, now?" _Fear of reprisal._

"I guess nothing."

"Well?" Negan smile lowers. "Do you think it would be degrading to be with me?" I open my mouth to speak, but as I'm about answer, there's a soft knock on the door. _Praise the stars!_ Negan rolls his eyes and sighs with discontent. "Yeah?"

"Can I come in?" A pallid voice calls. A woman, certainly one of his wives. Negan looks over at me before getting up and going to the door. I remain seated and facing forward, looking at the things that hang upon the wall with disinterested eyes. "I just thought we could, um...r-reconcile?" The young voice stammers. "I meant it when I said I was sorry."

"I know you did, honey. Especially now, I'm betting," Negan says with his typical asshole tone, "Nan, this my wife, Amber." I turn my head and meet her doe-eyed face. It's clear to me, and I'm sure to Negan, that she's here to ensure that he doesn't change his mind and send her back to the quarters. I stand and face them both, not giving a smile for civility's sake. It's more to do with Negan than this poor thing that sheepishly smiles at me before her eyes move from my sling to Negan.

"Am I dismissed?" I ask Negan. Negan glances at Amber, who I now realize is dressed in a short, silk robe.

"Sure...unless you want to stick around." He mischievously smiles. I walk to the door and Amber steps aside so that I can leave. The door closes behind me and it's not until I get to the door to the stairs that I hear Negan make a half- groaning, half- chuckling sound.

 **...**

I can feel the swelling in my one eye and can only hope that it won't seal shut by the morning. I know the ibuprofen wasn't strong, but as I walk through the halls and down the stairs, I feel as if I'm in a haze, like this day has all been just a dream. _No such luck._

"Nan, right?" I turn my head to an open door to see a few men playing cards and by the smell of the smoke that looms into the hall; they have marijuana. "Wanna play?" I shake my head and a pang tweaks my shoulder.

"Can I have one of those?" I dully point to the joint in one Savior's hand.

"What do I get in return?" He asks with a toothy grin. Right. There is always a cost.

"I have, um...some peanut butter you can-"

"Francis isn't coming back from the outpost for another two weeks," he interrupts, "It's gonna have to be something more worth while than a jar of peanut butter."

"Okay," I nod, "Have a nice night." I walk a little ways down the hall when I hear footsteps behind me.

"Hey, wait a minute!" I turn around and the man strides up to me. "We can still work something out." He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces an unlit joint.

"I'm not interested, thanks." I scoff. I'm not letting this guy fuck me for a joint.

"That's cool. One time pussy isn't worth it, anyway." I blink dully, unoffended. "I want a pair of your underwear."

"Excuse me?" My eyes sharpen.

"Preferably the ones you're wearing, now. You know, because they'll still be warm." The man smirks, but is totally serious, like it's a perfectly normal request.

"Again, have a nice night." I answer and turn around to head to my room.

"Suit yourself," The man says, unbothered by the no deal, "Come see me sometime, when you want someone who won't step out on you."

I stop in bewilderment and glance over my shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

"Dwight," The man looks at me nonchalantly, "You're his new girl, right?"

"No."

"Oh, well never mind then. Have a good night." He starts back down the hall.

"Why?" _Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to._

"'Cause he was just in Laura's room a while ago and they weren't scrap-booking." A winded feeling knocks my stomach. _He's lying._ Isn't he? _Dwight and you are done, anyways._

"Stay here, I'll be right back." I say before turning down the hall. _Don't you do it._ Shut up.

 **...**

I return ten minutes later and hand the man the underwear I just removed. He gives me the joint and nods. "Pleasure doing business with you." I swallow my dignity along with the bile and stalk off to my room. I pass Laura's door and stop as if I want to knock. I count to five, three excruciating times with my hand ready to knock, but I can't bring myself to do it. _It's for the best, remember?_ I pass my room and go outside to smoke againt the railing.

 _Fuck!_ I forgot I don't have a lighter. I run a hand through my hair with no sense of control, or steady ground; beginning to pace. "Fuck!" I cry, slamming my fist on the wall behind me, bloodying a knuckle. My watery eyes gravitate towards the two guards at the gate that just witnessed my litte meltdown.

"Alright up there?" One calls out. I put a hand up and go back inside.

 **...**

When I round the corner of the hall and see a figure leaning against the wall. I pass it as if it doesn't exist and open my door, going inside, and closing the door behind me. A knock sounds not five seconds later. I don't answer.

"Nan, I want to talk to you."

I remain silent, removing my sling so that I can undress. The door opens and Dwight enters without my okay. "Get out." I say, not looking at him.

"What happened to you at Alexandria?" He questions, completely disregarding my words.

"I said get out." I adamantly assert.

"Answer my question, first."

"Excuse me?" I whip around with red rimmed eyes. "Get the fuck out my room!"

Dwight scoffs, as if I'm being irrational, and licks his bottom lip. "I just wanted to see if you were okay, alright? And to talk to-"

"How is that any of your concern?" I snap, cutting him off. "I'm fine, so leave." Dwight turns around to exit through the open door. "Wait," I call at him, causing him to turn around, "Were you in Laura's room awhile ago?"

Dwight raises a brow. "What?"

"The guy who I gave my underwear to said that he saw you go into her room."

"You did _what?_ " He steps inside and looks back into the open hall.

"Were you scrap-booking?" I stifle back a rude chuckle and the lump in my throat. _You don't get to be upset. You two aren't "together" anymore._

"Who did you give your underwear to?" Dwight asks with a tone of heated disbelief.

"I don't know," I take the joint from my discarded pants pocket, "I asked if I could have one and he said I had to trade something 'worth while' for it."

"What'd he look like?"

"Sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, clean shaven...he was playing cards with some guys not far from your room." With that vague description, Dwight snatches the joint from my hand and angrily stalks out of the room. As much as I want to go after him, I feel like I could collapse with fatigue and decide to just close my door, so that I can go to bed. I saved my sweater and shirt for last, since I figured they would be the worse chore for my shoulder. _That ibuprofen is useless._ The door bursts open a few minutes later, leading me to cover myself with my shirt.

"Here," Dwight throws my underwear at me, "Don't do something stupid like that again."

"Mind your own business." I reply, painfully reaching down to grab the underwear from off the floor.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dwight sneers.

"Again, not that it's any of your business, but I was thinking that my shoulder hurt and I needed something for the pain." I wince as I give up on getting the panties since it's not an emergency.

"Carson all out of pain killers?" He scoffs.

"No, I just didn't want the heavy stuff. My stomach has been upset and those would have just made it worse." I now attempt to unhook my bra with one hand.

"So, you thought trading your underwear for pot was the next best option?"

"Why do you care?" I scowl, "You said you were done with me this afternoon...and apparently made a fast turn around." Dwight huffs and look away from me. "Did you and her have sex?"

"What? Who are you talking about? Laura?" Dwight glares before he walks over to me and unhooks my bra, having watched me struggle in vain for far longer than he can stand.

"That guy? He said he saw you go into her room and that you-"

"You believed, Everett?" Dwight scoffs incredulously. "The guy who wanted your underwear to keep in exchange for a joint?" _Well, when he puts that_ _way..._ but Negan also... _Shit, he's not a good source either._

"So, nothing happened?" I ask, feeling like a jackass.

"No. I told you I like her, but not like that." Dwight's offended and I guess, rightfully so. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocketknife. "I went with her to her room, because she was giving me back a knife she borrowed."

I mouth a flushed cheeked 'oh' and believe him to be telling the truth. I think I was more shocked than anything else that Dwight would've moved so quickly. _Yeah,_ _right._ "Okay, so I've had a long day. Seen some things, made poor decisions, made an ass of myself, and lost a...friend. All that being said, I think I'm gonna ask you to leave, before more shit piles on."

"Who did you lose?" Dwight's brows knit together.

"Sharon," I'm irritated that he, like Negan doesn't know who I'm talking about," She's the lady who died and then bit someone today in the quarters."

"Oh."

"Yeah...every time I think this day can't get any worse, more just keeps coming." I snicker and tears break the surface, hotly falling down the sides of my face. Dwight's face changes into something troubled and, perhaps, empathetic. A knuckle is offered to wipe the streams from off of my face, but I shove his hand away right as it contacts my skin. "Go away," I put a hand up to cover my eyes and cry into it, "Just go away."

"Do you still need something for the pain?" I nod childishly at his question and he promptly leaves. I make my way over to the edge of my bed and continue to sob into my hands. _This whole fucking day has me in fucking shambles._

Footsteps signal that Dwight's returned after a minute or so and I hear the closing of my door. "Here." I hear the striking of a lighter, so I remove my hands from my face to look up at him. He takes a drag from the spliff before handing it to me. My trembling hand takes it between my fingers and I put it up to my lips. Dwight sits on the bed next to me.

"Thank you." I sniff, depleted. Dwight puts a friendly hand on my bare back, soothingly rubbing it while he stares at the ground. I stand up and pull off the unfastened bra that pathetically hangs low on my shoulders. In just my underwear, I crawl under the blankets with the joint still in hand. "Um, do you...can you stay with me?" I croak. _Old coping mechanisms die hard._ This is like when I use to swear off Sylvie and then she would come around and I would be the fool again. Dwight nods his head, before standing to undress. I smoke while watching him strip down to his boxers and shirt and turn to walk to the other side of the bed. He gets under the blankets and lies on his back, reaching for the joint, which I hand him.

"What happened at Alexandria?" He asks.

"Negan..." I sigh, "Everything was fine, running smoothly. We were waiting for Rick to come back, when this guy came to the door of his house and wanted to talk to Negan."

"About what?" He gives me the joint as smoke exits his nose.

"Rick," I take a drag and inspect my fingers, "They dragged a fucking pool table out to the middle of the street and Negan and the guy were playing. He said that Rick was dangerous and needed to be removed as leader. He wanted to take things over...I think he wanted Negan to killed Rick, so that he could lead in his place. Negan didn't like that, so he stabbed him and let his guts spill out onto the ground." The image of Spencer holding his intestines makes me close my eyes to delete it. I take a longer drag. "Then the woman...the one who got you Daryl's bike?"

"Rosita?" Dwight turns his head to me, taking the offered joint.

"Yeah. She had a gun and she shot at Negan, but hit Lucille instead. Negan said the bullet was hand made and wanted to know who made it, but no one would say, so he had Arat kill someone. She shot this lady on the porch with Carl and me. Olivia. When no one spoke up, he told me to kill someone."

"Did you?" His eyes look at me intently.

 _Almost._ "No. I didn't have to, because the guy we brought back spoke up." Olivia's vacant face and those of the two people I aimed my gun at disrupts my mind. _You almost killed that guy._

Dwight sighs raggedly, "Your eye and shoulder?"

"I hit Davy with my gun. Twice."

"Jesus, what part of 'stay away from him' don't you understand?"

I ignore him and continue. "Gary held me back, so Davy could get even. After he hit me in the face, I struggled to break away from Gary and dislocated my shoulder. Negan set it back into place."

"He just let it happen?" He hands me the spliff.

I take one last inhale from it before putting it out on the floor. The pain is already starting to alleviate and my spirits are picking up. "The damage was already done by time he got up to the front. Your girl tried to help."

Dwight snickers through his nose. "Shut up." He puts an arm under his head and stares up at the ceiling.

"Laura didn't tell you any of this?" I ask, laying back down.

"She vaguely told me about your shoulder, but she didn't see what happened to that guy. Her, Gary, and Davy got chewed out by Negan."

"I know." I look at the scarred side of his face because it's the side that faces me. "I'm sorry for the mean-spirited things I said to you, today."

"Don't worry about it." He says while keeping his focus on the wall.

"No, I am. All the shit that's happened today, for you alone, I shouldn't have been such a bitch." I put both my arms under the blankets.

"Nothing happened to me," Dwight claims, "Mark's the one who got the iron."

"I saw your face when it happened," I let my hand closest to him touch his wrist, as if to convey sympathy.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I assert, "Negan shouldn't have made you prep the iron. It was cruel and he knows it."

"We make our own choices, Nan," Dwight looks over to me, "There's nothing I haven't done so far that I haven't chosen to do. Prepping the iron wasn't that big a deal." I want to argue that it is and that I know he's lying, but I'm too damn tired. "I'm sorry for what happened in the stairwell. You were right; it's wasn't your fault."

"It's okay."

"It's not, though," he argues," You were right. Sherry and I got into it and I...used you. I'm sorry."

"Okay." I take my hand off of his wrist and find the slit in his boxers, letting my hand delve inside.

"What are you doing?" Dwight asks.

I think about what Amber told Negan about an hour, or so ago. "I just thought that maybe we could...reconcile." A smile creeps across my sleepy face. "I meant it when I said I was sorry." A small spur of guilt agitates me for mocking that baby faced girl's words to her asshole of a husband.

"Is that right?" He snickers with a hitched breath as my hand works up and down his penis.

"Mhm," I lean over and place my lips on his collarbone, "Think you can keep it up this time?"

"Shut up, smart ass." Dwight laughs under his breath. As smoothly as I can without fucking up my shoulder, I climb on top of him; the heat between my legs pressed against his belly. I lean down with my good arm to try a kiss him and he meets me half way. A hand creeps down between us; where the fire's at. A relieving moan exhales from my mouth at the feel of his fingers inside me. I rock my hips on them, breathlessly meeting his mouth whenever it comes my way. A hand reaches around to his penis and since it's ready and willing, I take Dwight's hand away and move myself back. His hands take each of my hips as I slowly lower myself onto his length, groaning softly.

I thrust onto him steadily and can't stop myself from going at a better pace than I planned. Dwight looks up at me with a small smile which, I won't lie, makes my heart flutter. _Easy, Nan._ His hands move up my back and without warning he jerks upward, bringing a loud moan out of me. A banging on the wall behind me is a response to my noise.

"Shut the fuck up!"

It doesn't mortify, or deter me from continuing to rock back and forth on Dwight. Instead, we both breathily laugh at the hypocrisy coming from one of the two loudest fuckers on the floor yelling at me to quiet down. Dwight thrusts up again and I fight back another audible sound to keep from catching flack from any more neighbors. I pick up the pace when a deep sensation winds inside me. Dwight lays back and watches as I close my eyes with my mouth agape, struck silent with orgasm. Warmth spreads through my cheeks like wildfire. It feels like an eternity until my insides spasm around him and my chest heaves with sustained breaths. Dwight moves under me, turning his body to roll us over while he's still inside me. I wince and let out a sharp mewl of discomfort when he lands me on my shoulder funny.

"Shit," he whispers while trying to not to laugh, "Sorry."

"It's alright," I breathlessly claim, "Just don't re-dislocate my shoulder." Dwight snickers as he puts his mouth to mine. "I don't want to have to wake Carson up and have to explain to him why he needs to reset my shoulder."

Dwight laughs as he begins thrusting. "You'd be too embarrassed to tell him the truth." Dwight forgets he's talking to a girl who just traded her panties for a joint.

"Sorry to wake you, doctor, but Dwight seems to have fucked my shoulder out of it's socket," Dwight laughs more heartily at my playful mimicry, "Would you mind putting this whore's shoulder back to it's proper place?"

"You're not a whore." Dwight pants before moaning.

"I'll give you a pair of my panties as payment." A new moan is muffled by his lips crashing against mine. As much as he tries not to, Dwight can't hold back a unreserved laugh which irregulates his thrusting. I laugh under him and our eyes meet. I hope my eyes have the same hospitable look as his does. Dwight bucks deeply a few times more before I feel a faint twitch and put my hand on his chest, having him pull out; his hot cum spilling on my lower tummy and thighs. He hovers over me, watching my eyes as intently as I survey his. He eventually rolls off me and onto his back. After a few seconds of recuperating, Dwight leans on his elbow and slides his other hand between my blankets, using the sheet to clean the mess off of me. "What a gentlemen." I mutter sarcastically with heavy eyelids and extend a hand to touch his scars.

"It doesn't bother you?"

"I'll just wash them tomorrow."

"Not the sheets. I meant...the scars." Dwight's face grows serious.

"No, why would they?" I now caress his face with my thumb more tenderly. He looks at me skeptically. "If they did, I wouldn't in be this mess with you, would I?"

Dwight scoffs, amused. "I guess not."

I bring myself up to him and gingerly kiss the ironed side of his face. "It doesn't bother me." I lay back down and Dwight follows me, kissing me more gently than he ever has. "Thank you for getting my underwear back from...whatever his name is. I can't believe I did that."

"You were upset," Dwight lays his head down on my chest, "Who hasn't traded their underwear to a pervert after a bad day?"

"You're right. Why am I beating myself up?" I saucily laugh as I comb my fingers through his hair.

"Because you probably could've gotten more."

"True, they were still warm." My eyelids drift down as I feel an arm lay across me.

"Seriously, though," Dwight sighs after he laughs against my skin, "Don't beat yourself up. You could have done worse." Like let Negan fuck me, or kill an innocent man?

"Okay." I whisper, deciding to focus on finally going to sleep.

The day ends like this. With Dwight's head on my chest and my fingers running through his hair, while my other arm rests on his, both comfortingly and because it works well with my shoulder. I don't know when he fell asleep, of if he even did. When I finally close my eyes to put down the day, I immediately fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. The kind that days like this one put you in. I think we lay there without any idea of anything that would happen next. If our reconciliation meant that all we said this afternoon would be dead and buried, or if this was just one last hoorah before we dissolved into a friendship equivalent to the one I share with Hal. We lay my bed without the faintest idea of whether this day would be the last bad one for a while, or if it was just the calm before the storm.

* * *

 **Whoo! I don't know about any of you, but I LOVED the season 7b premiere! Aww, poor Daryl, he did not want his family to leave him! Also, how badass was Rick and Michonne's stunt with the cars and wire?**

 **Anywho, thank you for all the graciousness!**

 **Moorish Woe: To answer your question on Nan's appearance, I hadn't really had an actual person in mind. However, I'll try to have something of an idea by next chapter.**


	19. Gone

It's about six -fifteen in the morning when my eyes open, stunned by the morning light from the window. My humble, full-sized mattress reminds me that I'm not the only one in bed and I'm more aware of Dwight's body heat. I stiffly turn my head to see him facing me, asleep.

I stretch my hands down by my side before pulling them out of the blankets. My shoulder is more agitated than it was yesterday, so I guess I'm going to have to go see Carson. I itch my nose ring, which leads me to explore the left region of my face that's bruised from my recent brawlings. It's hard to tell where the bruise from the worker and the black eye from Davy begin and end because they're so close to one another, but at least I can be thankful that my eye didn't swell shut like I thought it would. Ow! I accidentally poke my black eye a little too harshly. _Yep, that's a doozy._ For the first time in awhile, I giggle at my salty thoughts, lightheartedly. Just as I do, Dwight inhales sharply and shifts onto his back.

"Mornin'." He says to me with a dry throated sigh, opening his eyes. I watch like a child as he runs his hands down his face, paying attention to his eyes.

"Morning," I murmur with a strange shyness, "Did I wake you?"

"Yeah." Dwight sits up and takes a glimpse at his wristwatch.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," he lays back down on his elbow, facing me, "It was time to get up anyway." I smile timidly up at him, which he returns before he leans down and kisses me.

"I thought you had to get up?" I snicker quietly.

"I am up," he replies, "Daryl can wait for his breakfast."

We make out in near silence for a while, with our breathing and lips smacking being the only sounds in the room. My mind wanders back to last night and how it was inarguably the closest I felt with someone since Charlie. Dwight could've, perhaps should've, just left the room last night and not come back at all. But instead he chose to return to help me as best I would allow, which involved getting high and having sex. I wanted him to stay with me, even though we probably should remain "done" with one another. _You are a creature of habit._ We even had what Charlie called "fuck banter." When two people speak to one another before, during, or after sex in a good- humored manner because they feel comfortable, and perhaps, trusting of one another. Letting one's guard down can subject that person to vulnerability and maybe pain, so it's saying something when walls come down. _Should your wall come down?_

Gradually, Dwight deepens the kiss, and shifts a leg gently between mine. That and his body gently pressing down on mine puts a sickly sweet sort of feeling in my stomach that I'm not so sure I appreciate. I don't want to have anything close to what I had with Charlie. I can't have that again. It would feel like I betrayed him. _Again._ I always managed to disappoint or hurt him, how can I still continue to do it? _Charlie's gone, Dwight's here...alive._ That thought burns a little in my heart.

"You alright?" Dwight's voice hauls me back to reality.

I nod and try to smooth out the unease I feel on my face. "I'm fine. It's just my shoulder."

"We can stop." He starts to get off of me.

"No, it's okay," I put my hand on his arm to try and stop him, "I'll just get something from Carson later."

"Nah, it's cool," Dwight pecks me on the lips before moving off me and the bed, "I left my radio in my room, anyways. Probably not a good idea to not have it around." I watch as he dresses himself.

"Yeah, I need to shower before work." I lazily pull myself out of bed, walking over to the pile of clothes I had accumulated on the floor. The black jeans I wore before I went to Alexandria are picked up, along with my bra and sling. After laying them out on my bed, I go over to my trunk to get a clean shirt and my water jug.

"Can I have some of your water?" Dwight asks behind me, so I hold out my jug to him. He takes a few gulps before capping it and handing it back to me. "Thanks," he puts on his vest before going over to the door, "I'll see ya later." He says with a slight smile right before he opens the door and leaves.

"Okay." I answer to the empty room.

 **...**

My brain turns over and over while I wash in the shower. What should I do after last night? I might be over-fretting about nothing, but this morning feels so different from all the other mornings I woke up with Dwight and it seems like things must go in one of two directions from here. Either we parts ways, or we continue on together and I guess pursue a relationship of some form or another. Would the latter even be feasible? Could Dwight and I earnestly be in a relationship? I'll admit, I'm a little wishy-washy when it comes to this sort of thing. I've been accused of being emotionally impotent while at the same time never failing to crawl into bed with someone. Even if that someone isn't my boyfriend. And Dwight would leave me for Sherry in a heartbeat if she ever left Negan and I can't say that I would blame him. We're both two troubled individuals whom have our own issues, who can confidently that say either of us are in any shape for commitment? Still, last night it appeared that we both put away our reserved dispositions and were more, at the risk of sounding like an idiot, intimate with one another. I mean, Dwight's tone never strayed from his dry, cool manner and I still managed to hold onto my jaded sounding tongue, but overall the atmosphere between us was different. It was lighthearted and fun. _Maybe it was the pot._

Relationship. That's what he said yesterday; that we were in a relationship. A disgustingly blithesome sensation seizes my chest and almost threatens a smile. _You want to be him._ I suddenly feel sick and without warning, puke in the stall. All of it goes down the drain, but it still grosses out the other Savior women in the bathroom.

"Hey, beauty queen." Laura's chuckles, stepping into from the stall next to mine as I'm getting out. She whistles, looking at my bruised face. "Man, are you ballsy, or what?"

"Or what," I say as I pat myself dry, "What's on your agenda today?" My weak attempt at small talk sounds so weird, but Laura is probably used to that by now.

"I'm showing the new guy, Eugene, around."

"Was he not put in the cells like Daryl?"

"Nope, he's one of us now," the water starts over her, wetting her blonde hair, "And didn't you hear? Daryl's gone."

My blood runs cold as I halt in place by the bench. Did I hear her right? "What?"

"Yeah, he killed Fat Joey, too. They just found him in the east yard with his head bashed in," Laura looks down at her shower supplies she brought with her, "Shit, I forgot my shampoo. Can I borrow yours?" I hand her mine and dress as quickly as my fucked up shoulder will allow me. Once my arm's in the sling, I decide to go find Dwight. _He said he had to go to his room, right?_ "Hey, don't want your shampoo?"

"Keep it for now." I blandly reply without looking over at her. Daryl's gone? _How could he have escaped?_ This place is infested with Saviors and the dead on the fences; I don't get how he could've just left. Especially, since he was locked in the cell.

I get to Dwight's door and decide to just open the door and go inside. He's there, sitting in his chair with a piece of paper between his fingers. When he looks up, he folds the paper and puts it in his pocket. As I close the door behind me, I notice the scattered chess pieces and scraped peanut butter jar with a spoon still sticking in it on floor.

"What happened?" I dread to ask.

"Daryl's gone," He hoarsely responds, "We found Fat Joey in the east yard. His key to the cells was gone off the key ring." A hard lump forms in my throat as I recall that I have that key, currently in my pocket. However, as I casually touch both my jean pockets, I don't feel any outlines of a key. As far I remember, I didn't see anything on the floor when I picked up my clothes before going to the showers. _It's your fault._ No, it can't be. Daryl would've had to take it from my pocket and he never once touched me. _Unless it fell out of your pocket._

"Does Negan know?"

"Probably," Dwight answers, rubbing his temple, "They've been scouring the whole fucking place looking for him. But, he's gone."

"Um, well...he couldn't have gone too far right?"

"Joey's been dead for awhile," he informs, " Maybe since yesterday, I don't know, but that asshole took a bike. So, yeah, he could've gotten real far." _Fuck!_

"Okay, but the Sav-...we have people everywhere, so even if he did get far, he'll be found in no time then, yeah?"

"Nan, I don't know, al-" before he can finish his sentence, an ominously cheery knock sounds at the door, causing both of us to look over, "right." Dwight finishes in a low whisper. He gets up from the chair and goes over to the door.

As soon as he opens it, three Saviors, Davy included, barge in and knock him to the ground while Negan stands in the doorway, darkly serious. They savagely attack him and I fearfully stumble backwards, almost getting knocked down. "Stop!" I try to pull one guy's fist from striking Dwight, ignoring the burning pain in my shoulder. "Stop it!" I shriek with tears hotly forming in my eyes. I helplessly struggle but to no avail and I feel as if I'm made of feathers, because nothing I do prevents the men from beating and stomping on Dwight. "Please, Stop!"

"Nan!" I snap still as Negan's thunderous voice shouts my name. His face is frighteningly severe and I can't help but distress when his stone eyes meet my pooling pair. "Step out of the room. Now." He's got Lucille draped over his shoulder.

"But he-"

"Now." He gravely repeats without raising his voice. "Unless you want to make things worse for him." At that threat, I meekly do as I'm told, brushing pass Negan who steps aside for me to leave.

"Please, it's not his-"

"Shut up," Negan cuts me off again, "Stand here and don't say another word, or it'll last longer." I stand by him, feeling powerless and made to watch Dwight's beating. I try my best to not so much as whimper for fear that Negan will count it as a word and make Dwight's torment out to last. I look on with blurring eyes as the three men brutally wale on him. After what feels like an eternity, Negan calmly tells them to back off. "I think he's had enough. Take him to cells."

"No, wait, Negan, please don't-"

"Davy," Negan says and Davy kicks Dwight hard in the stomach, so I shut up. "Take him to the cells." The two Saviors, whose names I'm drawing a blank on, pick him off the floor and one takes him from the room and down the hall towards the cells.

Davy smirks at me, winking, as he exits Dwight's room and down the same hall. I instantly move to follow them to the cells, but as I do, Negan pulls me back by the strap of my sling. "No, Nan," he says a little annoyed, "No. Your little boyfriend is in some serious shit and will not be taking visitors. Especially not conjugal visits." Negan chuckles.

"It wasn't him," I sniff, "it's not his fault."

"How do you know that?" He asks with a patronizing tone. _Because it's my fault._ I look down and try to muster the courage to say that it was in all likelihood, my fault. "What you don't have an answer? Because you don't actually know if Dwighty boy let the dog out?"

"He was with me last night." I murmur as some feeble attempt to give Dwight an alibi.

"Well, from the looks of it, it being Fat Joey's caved in noggin, Daryl was let out yesterday. Probably before we got home. So, what am I suppose to do with you telling me about how you were hiding the salami? Add it to my spank bank?" His laughter makes my cheeks warm with both anger and embarrassment. "Run along, dear. Down to Reed."

"Reed?" I question.

"Yes, Reed. You'll be doing whatever he needs you to do until that wing of yours heals up."

"I can do my regular job."

"Really? You can fire an assault rifle with your good arm in a sling? Can you cart shit to the dumps?" I look down with a childish pout. "Didn't think so. Get to work, darlin' while I get to the bottom of things. And just so you know, if it will put your mind at ease, should I have to kill him because he let Daryl out, I would be happy to be of comfort to you." He laughs in his throat and I move passed him with more tears forming.

I get the hell away from Negan as quick as possible, stopping at my room before I go find Reed. I hastily comb through my room with hopes of finding that goddamn key, but come up empty. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ I slam my back onto a wall and slide down to the floor. It had to be how Daryl got out. It is my fault. I look at the desk clock on my trunk... _shit_...I have to go.

 **...**

Reed explains to me how his logs work, how to manage them, who to collect the other logs from, how to account for what's paid for or taken, etc, etc. I can hardly pay attention, even though it's not that difficult an information to take in. The anxiety of what's to become of Dwight in addition to my shoulder agonizing all day distracts me from any real focus.

"Nan?" Reed snaps. "Are you paying attention?"

"Yes." I weakly claim.

"Nan?" A familiar voice makes me whip my head around to wherever it came from. Hal. I rush over to him and cling to him with my good arm. "Fucking hell, what happened to you?"

"Oh, who cares, Hal," I press him to me with scant regard of Reed's eyes upon us, " Everything's gone to hell." I say, misty-eyed.

"So I heard." Hal calmly pats my back.

"They have Dwight down in the cells, because Negan thinks he let Daryl out and they came to his room and they..." I crumble into his shirt, holding onto him tight.

"S'alright, love," Hal shushes me, "It'll be alright."

"No it won't," I croak, "It was my fault." I whisper to him with grave eyes.

"How was it your fault?" Hal's face grows seriously worried.

"Hey, Nan! We got a lot of ground to cover, so let's go!" Reed shouts over to me. "And you should be out in the yard, 35!"

I clear my throat and huff. "Never mind. I guess you should get going before he gets ya."

"Yeah," Hal nods , "Here about Sharon?"

"Yeah, I did," I reply, "Poor thing."

"Nan!" Reed gripes.

"Alright!" I yell back over my shoulder. Hal and I nod at each other and part ways.

My eyes flicker to Laura and the mullet haired man we brought from Alexandria. He's got a jar of pickles in his hands as she shows him something on a table. At about ten' clock, Reed's radio crackles and Negan's voice comes on with some strange type of eulogy for Fat Joey. Something about oral sex and Lucille and Skinny Joey being "Just Joey" I don't know, far be it from Negan to have something seriously thoughtful to say about a fallen man. After that "heartfelt" speech, Negan then goes on to say that we have a "Code Red" situation and that he needs someone to look for Daryl. Simon's unmissed voice comes through, accepting the offer to go over to Alexandria to look for him.

After seven, excruciating hours, Reed gives me the go ahead to call it quits for the day. I sneak down to the cells and glance from side to side before knocking on one of the doors.

"Dwight?" I steadily mutter. No answer. I turn the knob and find the cell I temporarily squatted in to be empty. I go over to the cell that was Daryl's and knock. "Dwight?" No answer. I turn the knob and it's locked. "Come on, I know you're in there." I plead.

"You should go before someone sees you." Dwight finally rasps.

"Dwight, this wasn't your fault, I know it wasn't." I firmly say with half a whimper.

"Go away, Nan."

"I know it wasn't your fault." I reassert.

"How do you know that?" I can hear him scoff.

"Because..." Why can't I say it? _It was my fault._ _I lost the key. Daryl took the key and used it to escape, killing Fat Joey in the process._

"Look, just go, alright?" Dwight snaps. I nod, even though he can't see me and slide a bare granola bar from my pocket, pushing it under the door.

"It isn't expired." I whisper before getting up and leaving him alone. _What to do, what to do?_

I restlessly lay awake that night, not having any clue of what to do for Dwight. _Go tell Negan the truth._ What will happen to me if I do? I think about his questioning me the other night about whether or not I'd think degrading to be with him. _"But then Sherry says that she will marry me, if I let Dwight live."_

 ** _..._**

The next morning, I sit outside the infirmary for thirty minutes, according to the clock on the wall, waiting for Carson to come. I must look pathetic to some of the Saviors who pass by me as I sit criss-cross in the hall with my bruised face and slinged arm. My head is in a fit, trying to think how I can convince Negan to let Dwight out. If I told him the truth, would it be enough to save Dwight? _You have to at least try._

I lazily gaze down the hall as I hear more footsteps. _Ah!_ I gasp inwardly at who I see. I then painfully scramble to my feet as I see Carson followed by Dwight heading towards the infirmary. A sudden urge to hurry over to him halfway and wrap my arms around him is quelled by my will and fatigue.

"Nan?" Carson furrows his brows in confusion.

"I-I needed something for my shoulder." I say without losing my fixed sight on Dwight.

"Surely," Carson says with a faint grin, "I figured you would want something more than just an ibuprofen."

We all go in and I stand awkwardly by as Dwight sits on the exam table, removing his vest and shirt. Carson fiddles around the cabinets, getting out what's necessary for patching up the cut on Dwight's forehead. Despite the bad beating he took yesterday, Dwight looks like he's okay. There's some bruising here and there, but besides that and the cut, he somehow came out in better shape than I previously thought.

"Do you think she did it?" Carson asks out of nowhere, handing me a thick, chalky pill and some water. _Who's she?_

"Do you?" Dwight asks back as Carson tends to his forehead. Who?

"I noticed how upset she looked when he came in here for the first time. She ran off shortly after he disappeared, so I suppose maybe she could have." Carson answers.

I step closer to Dwight and he looks over at me as if asking what I want. "Who?" I gently inquire.

Dwight gives me the up and down before speaking indifferently. "Sherry. She left."

"You mean...?"

"She's run off." Dwight curtly states, hoping off the table and putting his shirt back on. He grabs a handful of lollipops that Carson, for some reason has in a glass jar like he's a pediatrician, and leaves.

"He's going out to look for her." Carson says.

I turn around with knitted brows. "What?"

"Negan had me accompany him down to the cells," he relays as he cleans up, "He asked Dwight if he had anything to do with Daryl's escape and then asked if he knew about Sherry's disappearance. As far as Negan's convinced, Sherry helped Daryl escape. Dwight said she wouldn't, but...Negan isn't so sure, so Dwight has to bring her back. She's been unhappy for a long time, so I can't say this was a total surprise. Running off, I mean."

I nod as I take Carson's words and leave the infirmary without a goodbye.

I nudge the cracked open door to find Dwight packing a backpack. He looks briefly over his shoulder as I enter. I look down at the mess that still lies across his floor and walk over to the chair, stepping over the little wooden figures.

"Here," I hold out my painkiller and water to him, "You probably need it more than me."

"I'm fine. You take it." Dwight passively replies. I sigh before I shovel the pill into my mouth and down it with some water.

"Do you think you'll find her?" I ask, bringing my knees up on the seat of the armchair.

"Don't know. I'm gonna try."

"What will happen to her when she comes back?"

"I don't know." Dwight sighs with fraying patience.

"It wasn't her fault." I murmur with my head on my knees. The cold water on my empty stomach sickens me.

"I gotta go," Dwight says, standing up and slinging the backpack over his shoulders, "I'll see ya later." I stand up with the intention of leaving as well, but stop when I nearly bump into Dwight who stops at the door. He turns to me and steps closer to me as if thinking about kissing me, but pauses just before he can. "See ya." Dwight finally sighs, leaving.

A little after Dwight leaves, I pace his room for a long time, thinking about the missing key and how I am likely responsible for all the shit that's happened. I resolve to pick up the mess in his room as a distraction, but it doesn't really help when I find a bit of blood on the floor from when they beat him.

Once I pick up the pieces, the chessboard, the peanut butter jar, and scrub the blood from the floor; I leave the room more troubled than before. My hands are cold and pink from me washing them too hard in the sink.

I find Laura on my way to look for Reed and she walks with me a ways. Laura proceeds to tell me how strange Eugene is and makes a half snide comment about his hair and the way he speaks. She talks on about how weird he is, but how Negan thinks he's this super smart, super valuable guy who claims to have several degrees. Something about him being part of this secret team that has some sort of idea of how to possibly cure the dead. I think it's farfetched and a tad outrageous. _You can't cure the dead; they're dead._ I don't know what he said to convince Negan of that, or whatever made Negan like him, but come on...seriously?

 **...**

At two, Reed gives me the go ahead to leave for an hour and so I head for the showers, wanting nothing more than to feel that lukewarm water on my skin after the exhausting, sleepless day filled with guilt and worry. The cogs in my head keep turning with the same thoughts, fears, and conclusions of what I can do to help Dwight. The idea repulses me, but it's my best chance to help him and keep myself alive. Although I said I was against it for my own preservation, ironically it could be life saving.

"Hey!" A voice draws my head to the left where a man stands in the doorframe of the bathroom. Those of us in the bathroom simultaneously put our arms up around our chests, or turn our backs in defense of this guy looking in. "Don't flatter yourselves! Negan wants everyone to get out to the front floor in twenty minutes. Spread the word." He informs before stalking off.

There's a brief moment of silence before curious chatter picks up and the timekeeper cuts the water in all the stalls. I dreadfully get out, the only one who is without complaint. My heart beats in my ears and suddenly I rush into a bathroom stall and vomit into the toilet. _Please don't let it be what I think this is._ Has Dwight come back with Sherry, or worse, without her? I upchuck a few more times, and flush the toilet. When I turn around, a few women are glancing over at me with raised brows that I ignore as I go over to the bench and begin to dress. Two or three whispers can be faintly heard from behind me and all I can make out is something about me being "Dwight's girlfriend." I flinch as I feel my bra fastened for me after I feebly attempted to hook it on with one hand. I catch a glimpse of the woman and see that it's Arat, but her face doesn't read as kind, just nonchalant. I offer a small smile as thanks.

I exit the bathroom after dressing and walk down to the front of the factory. Normally, I think I would reluctantly make my way over there, not looking forward to two punishments within three days, but the growing anxiety is killing me. I have to know if Dwight's there. What will I do if he's the one on the chopping block? _It's your fault, you have to fix it._ When I finally get there, I nudge myself through a sea of Saviors and workers to the front of the gathering circle. The overwhelming knot in my chest loosens when I see Dwight standing by the fireplace, obviously not the subject of whatever's to come. _Thank God._ I want to walk over to him and ask him what's happening, but after those women whispering about me in the bathroom, I decide not to make a spectacle of myself. I'm not some fretful little chickadee that needs dick to calm me down from hysteria.

Unlike the other day, there isn't a clear vision of who's in trouble because no one's held or tied down in the center of the growing circle of Saviors and workers, yet I see Carson stand by with his doctor's bag. Is Sherry here? I notice Negan's other wives standing by, but no Sherry. Will he bring her down? I spy Hal and decide to go over and stand beside him.

"What's going on?" I whisper to him.

"Don't know. No one does." He responds. Without thinking, I childishly take his hand in mine that he brings up to kiss. My eyes set on Dwight who finally turns from the fire when everyone starts to kneel. What's going on? Negan walks in and puts his hands up for us to rise, so we do. He pivots on his heel and points Lucille up at the catwalk where I see Laura and Eugene standing.

"You are gonna want to fucking pay attention." Negan tells the mullet haired man. Out of nowhere, Negan swings Lucille and hits Carson in the arm. I hear myself quietly gasp with my eyes still held on the good doctor bent over, holding his bloodying coat sleeve. As he starts to straighten up, he's grabbed up by two men, and Negan jabs him hard in the stomach with Lucille's barbed tip.

"Why?" Carson gripes in pain. "I-I don't understand."

"You don't understand?" Negan chuckles and pulls out a small piece of yellow paper. "Look what I found in your desk."

"I don't know what that is. I-it's not mine!" Carson breathily pants. Negan responds by poking him with the bat even harder, before walking over to the fire and taking up one of the gloves.

My eyes move back to Dwight who's just staring into the fire with his poker ready to take out the iron. I barely pay attention to what Negan is saying, as I remained focused on Dwight's blank expression. Something about letting a dog out or some shit. _Wait...does he thinks Carson let Daryl out?_ I finally look away from Dwight and back to Negan who's standing in front of the doctor.

"You knew she didn't like Daryl being here, so you fucking let him out for her. Why? Did you think she'd be taken with your little hero stunt? What a fucking wealsey move, doc."

"No!" Carson pleads, "She's the one who ran-"

"Yeah, and you know why she ran?!" Negan yells and it makes me grip Hal's hand tight. "Because she thought I would blame her, which...I guess I fuckin' did, didn't I? But see, Sherry, she told Dwight the whole story right before she ran into a mess of those dead fucks." I look back to Dwight who either is oblivious to my gaze, or just purposely blocking it out.

"A super hot girl horribly ripped to bits because of your greedy, delusional, _tiny dick!_ " Negan shouts.

"No, I-I swear," Carson puts his hands up for mercy, "I wouldn't."

"What, so Dwight's lying? That's what you're fucking telling me?" Negan laughs. "Why? Why would he intently try to hurt you? Sherry's gone. Dead, but if she is still out there, I'll find her. Then Dwight would be in big fucking trouble, right? He knows I would press that iron to the other side of his face until he dies. So what do you think he would get out of all this?" My eyes transfix on him and I wish I had the ability to will him to look over at me.

"No," Negan continues, "I know my Dwighty boy and I know he wouldn't fucking lie to me, because he is _loyal_. All he needed was another day in the hole to remind him of that. Make sure his head was on right. Worked before and it worked now. Ain't that right, D?"

"Oh, yeah." Dwight faintly answers while still peering into the fire. Negan strolls over to him and takes the iron from the poker. The unforgiving red glow makes me squeeze Hal's hand, which he doesn't seem to notice. Carson begs and cries not to be burned, putting his hands up to his face, which the two pricks at his side force down.

"You know how much I don't like doing this sort of shit, so why not just admit that you did it and say you're sorry?" Negan tells him as he puts the iron an inch from Carson's face.

"Alright, Alright!" Carson confesses, much to my disbelief. "I did it, I did all of it. I let him out for her! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" I skeptically look to Dwight and then back to Carson.

Negan lowers the iron from the doctor's face. "You see," the iron clanks on the floor, "That's all I wanted. All you had to say was the truth." Negan turns and glances up at the catwalk for a brief second, staring up at Eugene. Then, swiftly and viciously, he snatches up Carson by his doctor's coat and drives him into the fire!

I turn my head into Hal's shoulder with my eyes winced shut at the horrific screams from Carson as he burns to his death. Hal's puts his other hand on my head, which causes me to have to fight back tears. When the screaming stops, I look over to the furnace where Negan takes his hand off of the dead doctor whose upper half makes the fire crackle. I watch with a pain in my throat as Negan causally goes over to Dwight who's moved to the other side, more nearer to me.

"Now that that's over with," Negan chuckles slightly while the rest of us all stand disturbed and solemn, "We aren't going to have anymore problems for a real fucking long time, I'm bettin'. And good thing we have another doctor on reserve!" He points up at Eugene who looks scared but more composed than he did at Alexandria. Negan then puts an arm around Dwight. "I trust you, Dwight. Never should've doubted you to begin with. Sherry was... oh, she was something special. I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Dwight retorts numbly, which makes Negan chuckles before glancing at me with a dirty smile and then back at Dwight.

"Ice cold. I love it." He pats Dwight on the cheek and then saunters off.

Everyone files out promptly, likely eager to go back to work and attempt to block out the last fifteen minutes. "Alright," Reed's voice comes up behind me which makes Hal and I look over at him as he comes to my side, "Let's get this shit done so we can call it a day," My eyes flicker down at his clipboard and I let go of Hal's hand.

"Okay." I nod bleakly and turn up to Hal with the poorest attempt of a smile. He puts his hand back on my head and lightly kisses my temple. Reed and I head off, looking over at Dwight whose eyes trail me as I go.

 **...**

Reed and I spend three long hours going over the books in his office, which I didn't know he had until yesterday. It's nothing special; mind you, just a simple room with a desk, lamp, two chairs, and a file cabinet. It's pretty dull inside, save for the window that looks out on the mechanic's yard. As difficult as it is for me to block out any of my unwanted thoughts, this bookkeeping shit is actually a really good distraction. I meticulously go down the logs, marking anytime I see that a worker has used or earned points that will be calculated by Reed and myself very last, as soon as he's done with inventory and other more important matters. We don't speak, except for when I occasionally ask him if that's a number or a signature. Saviors have to sign the logs whenever they take something from any of the stations just so every little thing is accounted for. Reed is thorough, but fast at going through all the logs. I wonder if he was an accountant or bookkeeper before the world changed, although he doesn't look the type. Reed's a man who looks to be in his mid-thirties and someone who wouldn't have sat behind a desk all day. He looks a little rough around the edges, but that's pretty much what every Savior looks like.

"Done?" I blink into focus and turn my head to Reed.

"Uh, yeah." I hand him my work. Reed appears like he's just skimming over it, but after a few moments he nods.

"You counted all the individual papers that the workers handed in?" He lifts a few papers and reads them.

"Yes."

"Alright, everything adds up. Good work. Let's get this shit done and call it a night huh?" It takes us an hour to settle the worker's points and after that, Reed locks the door behind us with one book under his arm. "I gotta go take this to Negan," he explains, "He likes to look it over at the end of the day." _I don't care._

When I get to my floor, I shuffle down the halls until I get to my room. I place a hand on the knob, but stop before I can open it. Backing away slowly, I turn on my heel and go down the hall to find Dwight's door's framing illuminated by light coming from inside. I'm torn between wanting to go inside and wanting to never go inside again. _He didn't do anything wrong._ _Dwight had to report what Sherry told him._ And Carson did confess to helping Daryl, though part of me has an aching doubt. Negan's...right as much it kills me to admit. Dwight wouldn't just throw an innocent man under the bus. Right?

I rap my fist on the door. "It's me." I croak.

"It's open." Dwight responds behind the door. I open the door and find him sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless, and with a cigarette between his fingers and a beer in the other hand. When his eyes coolly set upon me, I have the urge to tell him I'm so sorry to about his wife's death and hold him in my arms. To soothe and console him like he did for me the other day when I was on the verge of melting, but I won't do any of that. I've never been good at being a shoulder to cry on. I never know what to do or say to alleviate the pain. And I hate it when people say their "sorry" for someone's loss. Unless you killed that person, or caused their death, why apologize? I guess you have to say something. I open my mouth to form some sort of condolence.

"It's fine," Dwight stops me before I can start, "It was quick." I furrow my brows, remembering Negan telling Carson that Sherry was torn apart. "She ran from me into a bunch of dead ones. So I had to kill her...so she wouldn't suffer."

"I, uh..." I shake my head at him offering me a cigarette and try to speak.

"I said I'm fine, Nan, alright?" His tone is sterner as he puts out his cigarette. "For once, could you just drop it?" I close my lips and look down in defeat and in truth, a little relieved that I won't have to fumble out some words that'll fall flat. My eyes wander around his room as he pulls his boots and pants off, sliding under his blankets. "Did you clean my room?"

"Yeah." I say softly.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to." I cringe at the band-aids on his forehead; reminded of the waling he took. As I turn to leave, preferring to give him some space, I feel his warm hand take my wrist. I look over my shoulder at him and after trying to read his somber face, sigh as I submit to taking off my clothes and climbing into bed with him.

 **...**

The next few days are rough. Although everything seems to be operating normal around the factory, there's still tension as Daryl has yet to be found and Sherry's death is bothering Dwight more than he's letting on. I want to talk to him about it, but I know he'll bite my head off and so I just carry on as quiet, bodily comfort. That good night we had is starting to seem like it never happened.

The sex we have is impersonal and rougher than I'd prefer, almost angry and barely has he kissed me. I know what he's doing; I've played this game many times before. Fucking all your troubles away solves as much problems as setting yourself on fire would. But, still, I consent because I want to help him and I know that right now he won't speak to me about it. I mean, our dialogue has been pretty scarce lately, but it's better than forcing him to talk about her and end up getting burned by whatever he'll say in scorn.

So, I just let him use me, which more often than not results in me just sucking him off, or him not being able to finish. It goes along the lines of him stopping halfway through crass thrusting to ask what's wrong which I respond with a blasé excuse of it being my shoulder, or that I'm tired which makes him get off of me. Then, I ultimately feel guilty and resolve to blow him. When he can't keep it up, I usually don't say anything because of what happened last time. He'll go limp inside me, curse, and then leave for a while. I usually take care of myself before he gets back and then go to sleep... or go off to find Laura or Hal if it's still daytime.

Tonight's not any different. I'm straddling him on his chair, trying to not lose concentration or even look at him as I grind steadily onto him. He's just sitting there, observing me with placid, blank eyes. I try to keep my eyes closed and continue, but it feels like his eyes are piercing me straight through. _Like he knows it's your fault._ I frustratingly groan after a few minutes of getting nowhere, and climb backwards off of him.

"My shoulder's starting to bother me." I say with flustered cheeks.

Dwight looks at me, unfazed and likely expecting it. "Yeah," he sharply sighs, "sounds about right." I ignore his semi-biting tone as I get down on my knees, parting his legs so that I can get between them. He exhales through his nose as I take him in my mouth and begin bobbing my head. His hand grazes through my hair, clutching too hard for my liking, but I keep going to get it over with. When he gets there, his spill gets on my shirt when I finally pull away. I just remove it like another chore.

"Sorry." He dryly apologizes. I nod and wiggle my nose to hold back some tears that want to come out. I feel his hand take my wrist somewhat gently, which makes me close my eyes with exhausted dismay. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not." I claim with a purposely-curt tone. Dwight stands while still holding onto my wrist. I turn dolefully to face him with some warm tears rolling down my face.

"Yeah, you are," he scoffs rudely, "Why?" He hesitantly brushes the back of his hand against my streamed cheek.

"I'm just tired is all." Dwight lets go of my wrist, not wholly concerned by my other excuse for my lack of morale.

"Go to bed, then." He puts a cigarette in his mouth and strikes his lighter, bringing the flame close.

"Hand me my underwear, please." I rub a hand on the back of my neck. Dwight takes up my panties from the arm of the chair and tosses them to me. I slip them on and then squat down to scoop up the rest of my clothes. "Can I borrow a shirt? I think I'm gonna go back to my room." When I glance over at him, his brows are gathered, but he gets up and goes over to a drawer, throwing a gray t-shirt my way. I put it on and then reach for my jeans.

"Wait." Dwight puts a hand over his eyes and sighs heavily. "You don't have to go. I'm...sorry if I was an asshole." He takes a few steps towards me. "Stay."

"You want me to?" I scathe the skin around my thumb. _Don't fall for that shit._

"Yeah...I want you to stay." He nods, smoking coming from his nose.

"Okay." I nod back. Maybe it's because I have always been a girl that willfully gives in to any hint of being wanted, or needed, even from people I know are using me. Or maybe, it's that I know what its like to lose someone that no one else can replace and that I know he's putting a wall up to try to keep it together. It's defensive coping and it's necessary in this world, especially in this fucking factory. _Self-preservation._

We go to the bed, both lying on our backs, and he drapes an arm across my middle as if to weigh me down from leaving. After about twenty minutes of silence, I close my eyes and go to sleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night and find him smoking another cigarette, glowing with the flashing lights from his T.V. When he notices that I'm awake, he turns it off and comes back to the bed. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes ensnares me as he pulls the blanket over his shoulder and turns his back to me. I worm myself a smidge closer to him and my eyelids droop back down.

 **...**

 _The corpse with his decrepit sinews and broken jaw has his suppurating hand on my wrist. I tug against him to break free, noticing the roamers that were encroaching around us have gone. The bone- chilling whistles shrills all around myself, my roamer, and the grave that took me way too long to dig._

 _"Nan." The roamer speaks with a sickening choking hiss. His eyes aren't the same. Tears burn up my eyes and I open my mouth to talk to him, but a knot catches in my throat. The whistling gets closer and a fearsomely light chuckling echoes through the trees. I fight for him to unhand me, but my footing is lost when one of my feet steps ever so slightly back and I feel myself fall._

 _I fall very quickly to the bottom with a hard thud onto the dark earth. The dead one stands by the hole, peering down, still trying to talk to me. "Nan." All the whistles have ended and are replaced by the sound of footsteps against the ground above me. I look and listen intently for whatever's to happen next, when suddenly another figure appears behind the corpse. I recognize it!_

 _I'm not glad to see him there. I don't extend my hand, or say anything though I need help. The person puts his arm out and shoves the rotter into the pit with me. I gasp and wince as he lands on top of me and immediately shove him off to side. "Nan."_

 _I pant fearfully as I wipe the blood and dirt from my face and stare back up to the man on the edge of the grave._

 _Another silhouette appears next to the man, one that makes chest gather firm. With a smile that could be seen even if this grave was a mile deep, this other figure pats the first on the back. "Ice cold," he chuckles, "I love it."_

 _The first man's hair gleams from the sunlight above us as he kicks some earth into the hole and everything goes dark._

I'm jolted awake, in a cold sweat, and discover that I'm alone and it's light out. I sit up and catch my breath, scanning the room for Dwight. He must have gone to the bathroom. I need something to help me shake off a nightmare that I've had many times before, but has never upset me like this in the past. Of course, it never ended like that before. I get up and pad over to the drawer where he keeps the joints from the outposts. _Hallelujah!_ There's four right in plain sight when I open it, along with a lighter. With a joint between my lips, I strike the lighter and light the end. I take the joint from my mouth and glance casually down to my feet. That's when I notice a folded piece paper on the floor by the side of Dwight's armchair. I bend down and take it up from off the floor and, I know I shouldn't have, open it. In pretty, loopy letters reads, " _go now_." I curiously look it over, sitting on the arm of the chair and smoking the joint. Go now? Whose handwriting is this and whom's it addressed to? _Where are they to go?_

The image of me finding Dwight in here the day that it was discovered that Daryl had disappeared flashes through my mind. _He was_ _holding a piece of paper._ This paper? Just then, the door opens and who else but Dwight comes in. At first he doesn't notice the paper in hand, since when he comes in, he turns to close the door. But, as soon as Dwight turns back to me, he freezes his body with his eyes fixed on the paper in my hand.

* * *

 **So, I wasn't able to get a chapter in last week, due to midterms and essays needing my full attention.**

 **That being said, I LOVED episode 11! So sad and heartbraking! And frustrating, given the whole Dwight framing Carson thing. All that aside, I like that Dwight and Eugene may form an unlikely friendship? After seeing the episode where Daryl escapes, I had it mind that the escape would make waves for Dwight and Nan which would lead to something later on...(suspense? lol) Sherry's running away was unexpected, but I think it will only further what I have planned for D/N.**

 **I've done some thinking on Nan's appearance and I picture her to look something like Imogen Poots, although anyone's more than welcome to imagine her with their own view. The only traits I've always had in my head for her character is that she's twenty-seven and has copper brown hair, a nose ring, and tattooed. She also doesn't wear makeup because it's obviously not accessible (although Negan's wives seemed like they had a little on.) I did have John Boyega as a vision for Hal, though (I adore him, lol). Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I always enjoy reading all the feedback!**


	20. Go Now

A horrific silence suffocates the space between Dwight and I. His eyes move up from the note in my hand and I dread the moment when my eyes are meet by his. I glance back down at the message. _Go now._

"What is this?" I ask, offering the paper to him. Dwight quickly walks over and snatches the note from my hand. I flinch a little at how heatedly he brushes pass me.

"It's nothing." Dwight answers coarsely. I hear him fiddle in the background, before I turn and find him rummaging in this fridge.

"Who wrote it?"

"It's nothing." Dwight reclaims more sternly, while pulling eggs and a tomato from his fridge. _She wrote it._

"If it's nothing, then why won't you just say who wrote it?"

"When I say it's nothing, why can't you ever just leave it at that?" He fires back.

Dwight stalks pass me again and returns to view with his camping stove and one of the pots that hangs from a nail on the wall by his bed. I watch angrily as he carries on. The clicking of the stove before a flame is produced aggravates me more than it should. He puts the pot over the flame and then takes up a water jug, pouring some into the pot.

One of my feet rubs the back of my other calf as I contemplate what I should do or say. _Leave._ I put the joint I forgot I had down on his ashtray and go over to collect my pants and sling off the floor. I slip my jeans on in a cold fury and turn my head around the room for my shoes, which have my socks inside.

"There." Dwight motions behind the armchair without looking at me or the spot my shoes are found. After snatching them up, I put my socks and shoes on, feeling like I can't get these damn laces tied fast enough. Next, I hastily put my hair up in a bun, before slipping my arm in the sling, taking up the still burning spliff, and going to leave. "Nan." Dwight's voice sounds more demure then before.

"Yeah?" I look over at him with fed up eyes, taking a drag from my painkiller.

"Can we.." He scratches his temple, "talk later?"

I scan his face calmly, before exhaling the smoke. "I don't know, D. Can we? Can we talk about whatever it is you want to talk about, or will one of us just tell the other to drop it?" _Get him, girl._

Dwight scoffs and then looks disappointingly at the stove. "Forget it. Just get out."

"Thanks for the permission." I saucily say before opening the door and exiting without closing the door all the way. "Prick."

I'm down the hall a bit when I hear his door close forcefully with a small bang. I take another inhale from my outpost cigarette. _Whatever._ My unusually cool sense of accomplishment has a short life when I around the corner and spot Reed by door. Warmth billows through my cheeks as soon as he looks at me.

"Good morning," Reed says with a raised brow, "I figured you were at the showers and you don't have a radio...so I was waiting."

"Oh...no, I, um, was..." _Why pretend you weren't where he clearly knows you were?_ "I spent the night at Dwight's."

"Yeah," Reed whispers under his breath, "Well, we need to go take inventory. Truck came in twenty minutes ago."

 **...**

The truck is emptier than some of the others I've seen. Negan's already out on the side of the factory where everything's taken until Reed and I take inventory. I hear him ask one of the guys who just came from wherever they collected why the load was light. The man reports that what's in the truck is all "they" claimed to have.

"Well, make sure you go back and remind them of the services we provide and why they'll want to continue paying for those services. Light a fucking fire under their asses. This isn't the first time with these assholes." Negan looks over at me and winks.

I keep my head down and trail Reed, writing down everything he tells me to. The radio on both Negan's and Reed's belts harbor Simon's voice. He's down the road and wants the guards to open up the gates. Negan tells him to come meet him where we are when he gets in. _Great._ Simon creeps the fuck out of me.

"Welcome back, friend! How fairs shit at the radio station?" Negan greets Simon with a handshake and a clap on the back when he arrives some fifteen minutes later.

"Those townies really got the drop on that place," Simon scratches an end of his moustache, " It was goddamn mess, but it's operational." He glances my way with a toothy smile. Reed and I go inside before either Negan or Simon has time to make it over.

Reed has us divide and conquer the logs around the factory. I can see the scorn in some of the worker's faces when they have to deal with me, but I'm done caring.

I speak with Hal a little bit in the mechanic's yard when Reed sends me out there to ask for the log that tracks what vehicles are up and running, the gas situation, etc. Hal's tells me about how Saviors and workers alike were pilfering through Sharon's belongings after she died. I've never seen him so embittered.

"The wolves came in and then the vultures took what's left." He said somberly, before looking over my shoulder. I look over as well and discover Simon schmoozing it up with a female worker who doesn't seem bothered by his presence. Quite the opposite in fact.

Simon likes the ladies. He hasn't tried to establish a harem like Negan, oh no. He seems to like playing the field and fucking any woman willing. When he first brought me here, Simon propositioned to "take care" of me from time to time. That meant he would provide me with goods and other shit whenever I would have sex with him. I declined and he didn't bother me afterwards like Davy does. I mean, he gave me that "if you ever change your mind" line, but I never have changed my mind and he's apparently never in want.

I look back at Hal who tries not to cackle at what we saw. "What's so funny about Simon making a pass at Marisol?" I ask with a smile.

"She wasn't too happy the morning he came through here needing trucks to move out to the outposts," Hal snickers, "She's all jolly, now."

"Maybe she knows something we don't know?" I raise a curious brow mockingly and we both fight back laughter. "See ya, soldier." I pat his arm and straighten up when Reed is standing right near the entrance.

"I was gonna ask what's taking so long, but I guess you're busy chit-chatting, huh?"

"Sorry." I murmur and we go.

We finish everything earlier than we had the other nights this past week and so we get to leave his office around five. Reed goes off to take the main book to Negan and I go to find something for dinner and go to bed. Alone.

The end of the day and lack of duty redraws this morning back into my head. _The note. Go now._ It had to be from Sherry. Why else would Dwight have it? A sudden chill runs up my spine. _What if it was for Daryl?_ No, that can't be. Then again, she did get me to try and help him that one day and she was upset about seeing him here. Like she knew him. No, no. She told Dwight that Carson did it.

Although...Carson doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would risk doing something so life- threateningly costly for the mere hopes that a woman would take notice. Especially a woman he knows is off limits. _She let him out._ If she did, then that would mean that she lied about Carson's involvement. _Or Dwight did._

A moan comes from the door next to me. The two lovebirds. I don't know why it sounds louder when I get into my room, but it does. The woman, I think I've heard her partner call her Rachel whenever their in the throws of passion, sounds like she's stifled herself from letting out a loud moan. _That's a first._ Since when do they care if others hear them?

I rifle through my trunk to get out my food, when I hear talking. I recognize both voices, except...that's not the husband's voice.

"Two down, two to go." Simon chuckles behind the wall. I cover my mouth with my hand in shock. _Simon?_

"You're such an asshole." Rachel snaps low.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, or the day after, sugar tits. I'm on a warpath before I have to go back and put an idle hand to work." _Ew._

"I don't feel sorry for you." She laughs and he makes a mischievous chuckle. She lets out another moan and then the palettes that make up the bed begins to knock against the wall.

I grab the first food item and leave, feeling like I shouldn't being hearing this. _Two down, two to go?_ That's the weird thing about Simon. He's almost, if not exactly, as cruel as Negan but that's never cock blocked him. He likes the ladies and they like him right back. I realize that I've grabbed a granola bar and scoff in disgust. My heels turn me in the direction of the kitchens.

I return later on with a packet of "beef stroganoff" that probably should have been heated up, but I just eat it cold from the pack. The room next door isn't quiet, but at least it's not Simon in there now. I feel bad for having heard this poor cuckold's wife getting it from Simon, but I'm not going to say anything. First off, it's none of my business and secondly, who am I to call the kettle black? Simon will be gone in a day or two anyway, so it'll be fine.

I lay in bed with my thoughts for an hour or so. I should have just confronted Dwight about that paper, instead of just leaving and allowing him to derail the conversation. Maybe I should just go now. Barge in, balls to the wall, and demand to know. After these last few days of letting him treat me like a numbing agent, I think I'm owed an explanation. _Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to._ That's the thing, though. I want to know, but I'm afraid of knowing.

 **...**

 _The only light in the apartment is coming from the kitchen when I get in around nine. The clinking of a glass on a marble counter in the kitchen, paired with the thick silence tells me that he's probably upset about something and I can only guess what._

 _"Charlie?" I softly call, treading lightly into the kitchen. I find him standing over a glass with a bottle of Jack nearby. Bebe's crouched down on the counter, but stands up as I enter her sight, stretching her back. "Hi." I murmur, petting Bebe when she approaches me._

 _"Hi." Charlie greets back, taking another drink from his glass. I walk closer to him and immediately am hit with the stench of whiskey. I take the glass from off the counter and tip back the remaining ounce before washing it out in the sink. "I wasn't finished." Charlie quietly grumbles._

 _"It's late, Charlie," I say over my shoulder, "You said you'd take your mom to chemo tomorrow morning."_

 _"I'm going to," He leans his elbows on the counter and lowers his head into his hands, rubbing between his eyes, "Because when I say I'm gonna do something, I do it. I keep promises...best of my abilities anyway."_

 _I walk over and grab the bottle off the counter, capping it, and putting it away. "Well, then sober up and go to bed, before you eat those words tomorrow morning." I know his remark was a drunken dig at me._

 _"How was she?" Charlie tiredly snickers._

 _"She played beautifully," I hand him some activated charcoal pills and some Gatorade, "As always. The one thing my grandma likes about her, aside from her cake decorating."_

 _"Sanne likes the cello, not the girl." Charlie scoffs before downing my hangover prevention remedy._

 _"Did you eat?" I ask._

 _"No...I was waiting for you. I'm always waiting for you."_

 _"I was with my grandmother, Charles."_

 _"Uh, oh. Charles?" I only call him by his formal name when I'm stern. "Am I in trouble, Anna?"_

 _"We saw her for like five minutes after the concert, and then we left. I told you that I was done with her, for good. Why can't you believe me?"_

 _"Because you lied all the other times." He puts his hands around my middle and runs them along my back._

 _"I mean it this time." I state firmly, pushing me away so that I can go to the fridge._

 _"You meant it before, too."_

 _"And you forgave me all those times." I start to tear up. Charlie's in a bit of a depression, what with his mom taking a turn for the worst, but still it hurts to have him be so flat out with me. Drunk, or sober._

 _"Yeah, I did. Even though I probably should've just left." His lazy bluntness has me in tears._

 _"Then why haven't you left?" I close the fridge, empty handed._

 _"Because I love you and I want to be right one of these days."_

 _"Right about what?"_

 _"Whenever I forgive you and stay. I choose to believe you and then I tell myself that you'll mean it this time. And that we'll finally be able to move on...and that I'm not an idiot for loving you and wanting to be with you so badly. That I won't wake up one day and feel like one of those poor bastards that gets rung out by someone who just won't love them back."_

 _"I do love you back," I sniff, becoming more upset, "And I don't want you to feel that way. I want to be with you." I go over to him and wrap my arms around him._

 _"Then why do you keep going back to her? Why do you keep walking into the same trap? To the same woman who doesn't love you, or anyone. She's selfish and mean and likes making you want her to love you. But she won't. And you keep falling into it."_

 **...**

The next four days are long and droll on as normally as they can go. Simon left for the outpost after spending two days here. All for the better, since it seemed that every time I laid eyes on the man, he was talking to one of the four women whom I assume he frequents with the exception of the woman that lives next to me. Him and her just sneaked back to her room whenever the husband's least likely to walk in, I guess. The others, one being another Savior while the other two are workers just went along wherever he wanted them. And I mean wherever he wanted them. His room, closets, showers, bathroom stalls, you name it. Rumor has it, he even took Marisol to an unpopulated part of the factory and they screwed there, outside. I don't know how this guy didn't tired himself out, but Negan found it hilarious that he was on a warpath before heading out. _More like whorepath._

I haven't spoken to Dwight since that morning. It's impossible for me not to see him from time to time, but for the most part we avoid each other like two opposing forces. Reed seems to like having me around because the two of us can get the books done in nearly half the time it generally takes him to do it alone. I think maybe he'll petition for me to stay on with him after my shoulder heals, which I suppose wouldn't be a bad gig. Beats standing out in the heat all day, although I do kind of miss Solara's chatter.

"Here," Reed hands me the book after he locks his office door, "I need you to take this up to Negan."

"To Negan?" I repeat nervously.

"Yes, to Negan. I have some shit I gotta do, so I figured you can take it to him this time." Reed starts to walk off in the opposite direction.

"Um, well, would he mind?"

"Why would he?" Reed looks over his shoulder with his brow raised.

"Because you'd would be able to answer questions better, if he had any."

Reed sighs. "Fine, if you want me to take it, I will."

"No, no, I can," I feel a bad since he seems annoyed, "I just am surprised you'd let me."

"It's not like an honor, Nan." Reed scoffs, humored.

"Right." I grin and head off to the top floor with a mass amount of anxiety and fear. I haven't really spoken to Negan since he tossed Carson into the fire and I'm not too keen on being alone with him. _Just drop it off and go._ Yeah, that's what I'll do. He doesn't need me to sit pretty while he looks over the book. As I turn down the hall that Dwight lives down, I hold my head high and foot past the closed door without so much as a glance. _Atta girl._ I don't why I feel so proud of myself, but whatever.

 **...**

The doors to that room where I had seen the wives are open and sweet perfumes accost my nose. I pass with the book pressed to my chest, side glancing to count five women's figures in the room. _Oh, good, I won't walk in on him with one of them._ When I get to the doors to his bedroom, I stare at them with a vision of me pushing myself up onto the bathroom counter as Negan kisses me. I roll my shoulders back and knock on the door.

"Come in." I hear him say not long after. I put my hand on the door handle, but hesitate to push it down and go inside. The corner of my eye catches sight of movement to my left, so I turn and two women; Amber and one other with bangs shyly lean back into the room. "I said come in, dipshit!" Negan yells. I bite my lip and crank the handle downward.

I step inside with the caution of a deer going into a dark and dismal cave. "Well, hello, Nan!" Negan smiles brightly as he sets his piercing eyes on me. He's sitting on the leather sofa. "What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were Reed."

"No, uh, he said he had some stuff to do," I clear my throat, "So, he sent me up instead."

"It's not my birthday," Negan chuckles at his own remark, "Well, let's have a look, then." He puts his hand out. I walk over to the sofa, hand him the book, and turn around to flee. A whistle stops me. "Slow your roll, sweetheart."

"You want me to stay?" I ask, turning back around.

"Yes," Negan says condescendingly, "I want you to stay. It'll only take me a minute to look this over, so why would you leave when you'll have to take this back to Reed?" He puts an offering hand out towards the chair I sat in the other two times I've been here. "Sit."

I scream inwardly and have a seat on the chair. Negan smiles and then opens the book where Reed's placed a pencil as a bookmark. My eyes gravitate around the room. _A tad bit gaudy for my taste._ Minimalism has always been more my thing.

"So..." Negan speaks without looking up from the logs, "How's the shoulder?"

"It's fine," I rasp, "better."

"Good." He responds and I can't decide if he's sincere, or being ironic. "How's our boy?" Our boy? Oh.

"He's fine."

"Fine?" He scoffs. I shrug a little, but nod as well. "Fine like fine, or fine as in not fine, but 'fine'?"

I dourly furrow my eyebrows in annoyance at all the fines he just fired my way. "He's fine." I repeat more definitely.

"Well that's just so good to hear," Negan chuckles, looking behind me, "What?" I glance over my shoulder, unaware that the door had opened. The woman I saw with dark bangs is standing in the doorway.

"I was wondering if you wanted anything before I went with Amber to see her mom." The woman says.

"Yeah, could you bring me and Nan some scotch, pretty please?"

"Sure." She leaves instantly. _Ugh, I hate scotch._

"So, you and Dwight are serious, huh? Like monogamously?" Negan asks half serious.

"I don't know." My cheeks redden as I look down at my hands in my lap. _Are we?_ A few days ago, I thought maybe we might be heading that way, but now I'm not so sure. And I'm also not sure if I should be downhearted, or grateful that he hasn't spoken to me in four days.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Negan laughs a little. "He still stuck on Sherry? I mean she was a good fuckin' lay, but man, she was frigid personality wise." I refuse to look at him, but avert my gaze to the curtains that hide the windows to try to stop from crying. I hear footsteps coming from out in the hall, so I breathe to compose myself.

The woman returns with two glasses of amber brown liquid, handing one to me and then walking over to Negan. "Thank you." I faintly say to her as I take a deep swig of the awful stuff.

"You're welcome." She smiles as she hands the other glass to Negan. Her genial smile flattens a bit as his hand snakes to her forearm before she can leave.

"Make sure Amber sees her mom and only her mom." Negan kindly warns. The woman nods and leaves promptly as soon as he let's go of her arm. He smolders over at me, having witnessed this, and squints slightly. "Do you think it'd be degrading to be with me, Nan?"

My breath catches in my throat and my eyes widen. "What?"

"You never did answer that for me," Negan's eyes flicker from me to door then back at me again, "Do you think it would be degrading to be with me?"

The periphery of my eye as well as Negan's glances to the door tells me that the woman hasn't left. That when he said that out right, she stopped in either shock or curiosity. I swallow dreadfully and meet his grinning, watchful eyes.

"No." Is all I barely manage to say. And the woman's shape quietly disappears. Fuck! He put me on the spot! Was I suppose say 'yes' while one of his wives was standing in the same room? _He knew what he was doing._

Negan gives a pleased 'huh' and then looks back down at the logs. I stare into the glass on my knee, waiting for him to speak. I thought he said it would only take a minute for him to look things over. The anticipation is enough to kill me as I sit in what feels like everlasting agony of silence, all while he sits across from me with perfect ease. I become aware of a clock somewhere in the room, ticking and I think my heart is beating wildly into my ears. _It's like the goddamn tell-tale heart in here._

Finally, I hear the book close and I force myself to look over at him. Negan rises from his seat on the sofa and motions for me to sit back down when I try to stand too. He steps between myself and the coffee table, sitting on top of it. I have to sit up to keep my knees from touching his. His fingers cup under my chin as he tilts my head up to look upon his ghastly charming smile.

"Know why I asked you that question?" Negan smiles, but his tone is Nearly serious.

I shake my head. "No."

"The other day," He takes up my hand and seems to be inspecting it, "In Rick's bathroom, you and I were about to, well at least I thought we were about to-"

"I remember." I awkwardly blurt out.

"Right," Negan smiles, "But then, you pushed me away and I figured you weren't interested in me." _Because I told you no._ "That maybe Dwight's just that good at fucking your brains out, although I would've taken him for a bit of a stiff. In a bad way." Negan throatily chuckles as he closes my hand between his. "But now, you just said that it you wouldn't think it degrading to be with me."

"I, um, I-"

"So I want you to marry me." It feels like an atom bomb dropped right in the room.

"What?" I pull my hand from his, holding it like he's hurt me.

"I want you to be my wife, Nan. Well, one of them anyway."

"W-why?" I stammer with my head in state of disarray.

"Because I think you're fine as fuck and I know you wanted me in that bathroom, just as much as I wanted you. Think about it: you'd never have to worry about anything, because I would provide for you. Food, shelter, safety. And those are just the icing on the cake. Everything this world has to offer...I can give to you."

"I-I-" I'm thoroughly dumbfounded.

"Tell you what, sweetheart," Negan pats my thigh before standing and moving away from me, "Since you seem to be taken back by such an awesome offer and because I'm such a nice guy, I'll let you mull it over. How's that sound?"

I take the logs from off the table and stand up to leave when I hear the door open. As I walk like ghost woman over to the door that Negan's holding open for me, he takes me gently by the elbow.

His warm, scotched breath grazes my ear. "I want you to think about it, _long and hard_ , so I'll give you two days." He kisses my temple before releasing me.

 **...**

I stare at my dark ceiling with Negan's offer of marriage railing around in my head like an angry hornet. I figured if Negan wanted to marry some broad, he'd just go right up and ask without a shred of humility. That seems to be how he asked Sherry's sister by the sound of it. And since he never asked me before a few hours ago, I assumed that meant I was safe from being asked. I've been here ten months now, although I guess up until about a month ago, I kind of flew under the radar.

Still, he could have asked right away when he did take notice of me, but he didn't. I can't imagine it had anything to do with Dwight, since Negan clearly has no reservations about asking women who are already in relationships to marry him. Dwight... _I need some fresh air._

 **...**

After spending sometime out in the cold, I come inside and pass my room when I hear that my neighbors are at it again. They were trying to bulldoze my wall down before I left. _When do these people ever sleep?_ I know I shouldn't want to, but I when I make it to Dwight's door; I stop.

 _One- two- three- four- five_ , I knock on the door. No answer. I wait for a few seconds, before deciding that he's not having company over and fix to go back to my room.

"Nan?" I turn my head to see him walking steadily towards me. A little too steadily, almost like he's trying. "What...what are you doing?"

As soon as he's closer I realize why by the smell of alcohol hitting me.

"I, um...are you drunk?" I nearly scoff.

"No, no I...I was playing shot hockey with Laura." His words aren't slurred, but his delayed responses betray him.

"Um, well, goodnight." I move around him to leave.

"Wait," Dwight takes my arm, "Um, were you-were you looking for me?"

"No," I lie, "I'm gonna go back to my room now." I gently take his arm from my elbow.

"Can I come with you?" He rasps, putting a steadying hand on the wall.

"Um...okay." I sigh, taking his elbow and ushering him in that direction. He doesn't say anything the whole time, which I suppose is better than the alternative. _Oh, god, what if he pukes?_ Then I'll puke and then I'll have to clean up both our vomit while trying not to add to it. _He did it for you._ I guess this is payback.

I open my door and we enter. Dwight goes over to my bed and sits down. His elbows balance on his knees while he puts his hands through his hair. _Oh, Christ, please don't puke_. I go over to my trunk and grab some crackers and my jug. I then stand in front of him and hold out the crackers and water. He shakes his head, so I take them back. I decide to undress him for bed, since that's what he did for me when I was drunk. I start with his vest, sliding down as much as I can.

"You have to move your arms, so I can help you out of this." I tell him. Dwight lifts his head and shrugs off the vest the rest of the way. I unbutton his blue flannel as he continues to study me. Once all of it's unbuttoned, I peel it off of him and he complies. Then, I crouch down so I can unlace his boots to remove them, so that I can help him out of his pants. I glace briefly up when I notice him taking off his t-shirt. "Go ahead and kick 'em off."

"Why did you let me come here?" He asks. _Because I'm a backsliding idiot._

"Because you asked," I reply dryly, "Kick your shoes off, D."

He does so and then proceeds to undo his own belt and undress himself down to his boxers. My blankets are already messed up, so all he has to do is lay down and pull the covers over him. "I didn't...I saw you and I didn't want to be alone."

I look down at him, a little surprised _. Probably just a drunk thought that got verbalized._ I don't know what I should do, so I just tuck some hair behind his ear. "Laura must have kicked your ass in shot hockey, huh?"

I walk over to the other side of the bed and lay down, waiting for him to do that same, so I can pull the blankets up. After a few seconds of nothing, I impatiently reach over and touch his arm. "Lay down."

Dwight listens to me and brings himself wholly onto the bed. He brings the covers up with him as he lies back. I now feel comfortable lying on my good side, so I do, facing away from him because of which side I'm laying on.

"I'm sorry for the other day." Dwight says out of nowhere.

"Okay." I say with my eyes closed. I don't why I'm so cranky, but I am. _You chose to let him come here._

"I don't know how...how to stop myself from fucking things up with you," His next words make me open my eyes as if it'll clarify what I heard, "And I...I know it's me and not you. Well...well, it's sometimes you. You're a bitch...sometimes and I don't want to be around you."

I turn over onto my back and roll my head in his direction with knitted brows. His head tilts toward me with mild eyes. I can't tell if he's in an inebriated stream of consciousness, or if he's actually speaking to me. "Go to sleep, Dwight."

"I can't...I mean I can, but I don't. Except when you're here...or there. Sometimes I can sleep when you're around."

"And the other times?"

His puts a hand over his eyes and rubs them. "I stay up thinking. I think I think too much. I think about her and how I shouldn't want to be with you."

"You want to be with me?" A good feeling rolls in my chest.

"I wish I didn't, but whenever we're alone, all I can think about is how better it is." A harsh alcoholic breath accompanies his confession.

"How better what is?"

He runs his hand down his face and looks back at me. "I don't know, it's just...better. But I keep fucking it up." I put my hand soothingly on his head and run my fingers through his hair. Dwight moves his head over to my chest and I let him lay there, despite it being my bum shoulder. What was I suppose to do? "It's not your fault, Nan."

"Shh," I can hear the smallest fraction of a whine in his voice, "go to sleep."

"I wasn't good to you these last few days." He shifts his body more towards me and lays an arm under my clothed breasts.

"It's alright, D. Don't worry about it."

Dwight lets out a sigh through his nose. "She left and... I don't think she cared about what would happen to me when Negan found out about Daryl."

I stop combing my fingers through his hair. Found out about Daryl? _The note._ "Did she let him out?" I cautiously whisper. I crane my head when I don't get an answer. "Dwight?" He's fallen asleep. _Go now._

 **...**

There isn't movement in the bed until about seven-twenty. I've been awake for an hour or two, thinking about what Dwight said last night before he nodded off. It could be nothing...just how he phrased it sounded iffy. The way he said it, that Sherry left and didn't care about what would happen when Negan found out that Daryl was gone, made it seem like she did it _. Sherry let Daryl out. Go now._

"Jesus," Dwight gripes, "My head's killing me." His hair is pressed with sweat from where he laid on me last night. I slide out from under him and go over to my trunk to get him an aspirin and some water. "Thanks." He croaks as I drop the pill in his hand.

"You were drunk last night."

"Yeah, I know." He winces at the sunlight.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" I sit criss-cross next to him.

"Laura scored more than me."

I faintly smile. "I meant after that. In this room?"

Dwight looks over at my bare legs and then innocently back up to my face. "Not really."

"Nothing like that," I assure him, "We talked and then went to sleep."

"I remember coming here and you...untying my boots and telling me to lay down." His eyes appear to focus on my legs, but I can see he's trying to make out what happened. "Why?"

"Returning the favor," I half lie, "and you asked if you could come with me, so..." I tuck some hair behind my ear.

"You didn't have to."

"No, I didn't have to." _You wanted to._ "Um, Dwight-"

The radio on his belt on the floor statics. "We have another runner," Arat says, "Looks like he left right before sunrise while it was still dark."

"Just a Grab n'Go?" Negan's voice asks.

"Yeah. He left out of the south gate, so he's likely gone towards the back roads, thinking to stay clear of the highway." Arat reports

"Good, hopefully the dumbass will run into our dead dolly chains," Negan replies, "Anyone want dibs? Dwight?"

Dwight and I look at each other before he leans over and takes the radio. "Yeah, I'll be down by the gates in fifteen."

"Good boy." I can hear Negan's devilish smile through the radio.

Dwight exhales and then gets out of bed. I watch as he dresses with a cringing expression from the hangover. About the time he's sat back down to put his shoes on, I decide to get up to eat. I take the same crackers I offered him last night with my peanut butter and pad back over to the bed.

Dwight grins. "You really should eat more than just crackers."

"I do." I inform him while chewing.

"When someone else offers you food." He snickers.

"You don't have to." I grin, sandwiching peanut butter between two crackers.

"No, I don't have to," Dwight takes a few crackers from the sleeve, "I have to go."

"So long." I quietly murmur, nervous about his leaving. For the runaway worker, not for him.

"Can we...can we talk later? When I get back?" He asks uneasily.

 _Go now._ "Yeah, we can talk." I glance to him and see the corners of his mouth tip up.

Dwight then hesitantly leans over, putting his lips gently against mine, not fully kissing me. I tilt forward and we kiss. Dwight inclines away and our eyes meet when he does. There's an anxious sweetness in the space between us, which I think we both feel. It's like when you're a kid and the neighbor boy asks if he can kiss you and you say yes. We nervously smile at one another and he stands up.

"Bye." Dwight faintly rasps before leaving.

An achingly lovely feeling flourishes in me when I'm alone and a thoughtful smile shyly appears on my face. I lay back on the bed and lick my lips in thought. Like most times though, my gaiety doesn't live long with the realization of something as well as knowing what I have to do. _Go now._

* * *

 **Thank you all for the feedback! You're all wonderful with such honest and kind thoughts on my story!**


	21. Two Days

"Can't repeat the past? Why of course you can!" - F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby_

* * *

The day drags by and each hour I don't see Dwight is another brick that weighs down on me. Him asking me, twice now, if we can talk has made a bundle of nerves out of me. I have no idea what he'll say, or how well whatever it is will be received by myself. I honestly don't know what I want from him, or what he wants from me. But I do know that I have to ask him about the note.

"Nan!" Reed tosses a pencil that pelts me on the arm before falling onto the factory floor. I reach down and pick it up, looking over at Reed in bewilderment. "Can you go to the infirmary and have the doctor give a status on the medicine and supplies?" There's an easily detected annoyance in his voice from my apparent drift of mind.

"Yeah." I hand him the logs I just collected from mechanic's yard that he adds to his clipboard. I happen to glance over at the quarters, where I see a Savior rummaging through a crate under the placard 11. "Hey, what's he doing?"

Reed follows my gaze. "I'm confused at what you're asking?"

"He's taking from that worker's things." I clarify.

"What is this your first day here? You want something, you take it." I roll my eyes at Reed's lack of concern. "Besides, that guy's not coming back."

"Wait, is 11 the one who ran?" I ask.

"Yep."

"He might come back." An uneasy feeling swirls in my stomach.

"Nah, not likely," Reed gives me the up and down, "Dwight's not been too good at bringing 'em back alive these last couple times. Now, go get the logs."

The new doctor, Eugene, has been kind of remiss on the upkeep of the medical logs. I guess he's got some other skills, aside from being a doctor and a bullet maker that Negan wants to exploit. I've been up to the infirmary twice already today and he hasn't been there.

The clock on the hallway wall says it's two-ten when I approach the infirmary door. I open it and, surprise, no Eugene. I learnt that his room is where Dwight and I took Daryl that one time. When Negan revealed why Dwight got the iron, thinking it would appeal to Daryl for some reason and he'd kneel. Once there, I knock and he answers almost immediately.

"Um, I need the medical logs." I state, taken back the stench of pickle juice, which sickens me a bit. I don't normally hate pickles, or the smell, but I have to clear my throat and swallow some spit to avoid gagging. It's probably because it's so potent, since that's all I've seen the guy eat.

"I'm sorry to say that I don't have them." Eugene says frankly before going to close the door. I put a hand on it to stop him.

"Well, you've been here for a week and a half," I point out, "And we're kind of up in the air about it all."

"I suppose up in the air is where you'll have to stay, until I've made time in which to properly assess the inventory." His tone is curt and a tad arrogant, which perturbs me.

I scoff. "Well, Negan reads the reports every day and expects everything to be accounted for."

"I am aware of that," Eugene nods, "but I've been put to use in other fields of my expertise and have not had the time." This guy is unreal.

"Keeping track of the medical logs is part of your job."

"Pardon me, but I was under the impression that it was in your job description as a bookkeeper to keep track of the logs." _What an ass!_

"Yes, but I'm not suppose to be in the infirmary all day," I lean on one side, "You are. And as far as I've seen, you've been anywhere but the infirmary since you took Carson's position. Now, Negan is going to ask why the infirmary logs are not up to date and who do you think he'll want an explanation from?" Eugene falters a bit and so I take a less bitchy tone. "Look, let's just go the infirmary and get things in order."

 **...**

We go into the infirmary and find the logs in Carson's old desk. From the looks of it, these haven't been touched in days. Carson's handwriting is the only writing, save for the signatures from Saviors from days prior. I explain to Eugene that it's important to keep these up to date, which is easy for him to understand, since the main reason is to avoid getting in trouble with Negan.

"If you don't do your job, no one else is going to take the heat for you, understood?" I try not to sound too Savior-ish. Eugene nods. _He's a strange man._ "Also, it's important that you keep tabs on this place, or else people will-" I stop mid-sentence when the door opens and in walks Dwight. He's dirty and his right hand is wrapped in a bloody cloth.

"Hey." He gruffs.

"Hi," I stifle a smile and then don't have to fight so hard when I focus on the bloody hand, "What happened?"

Dwight lifts the hand and looks at his palm. "He had a knife and I grabbed the blade as a last ditch effort to keep from getting stabbed."

"Did you bring him back?" I ask, noticing that he has the wound wrapped in what looks to be ripped clothing and his clothes are all intact.

"Yeah." Dwight walks over to the exam table to sit down.

"Alive?" I turn and am reminded that Eugene's here as well.

"Yeah." He furrows his eyes in confusion when the corners of my lips tip upward.

I look Eugene over incredulously. "Are you gonna tend to that?" I lift my hand to point to Dwight's hand. Eugene looks nervously over at the hand and I catch him wince at the blood. "There are gloves over there, but you should probably wash your hands in there, first." I point my thumb back towards the bathroom. Eugene does just that and I scoff at Dwight, amazed by Eugene's lack of urgency. Dwight just stares at me with an amused look on his face.

Eugene returns after twenty seconds and I motion with my eyes to the gloves. His uncool expression and demeanor strikes a light bulb in my head and I suddenly remove my attitude. "Look, just, uh...keep taking inventory. I'll deal with this."

I turn my head back to Dwight and put my hand out for his. He raises a brow skeptically, but places his hand in my palm. I carefully untie the sticky red fabric that was once light blue. The cut reaches across his palm and will definitely need stitches. "Go wash your hand off in the sink." I order and I follow him into the small bathroom, quickly washing mine before him.

Next, I pull out the supplies I need to disinfect and stitch up Dwight's hand from the drawers I've seen Carson pull them out of. Dwight sits back down with a wet, clean hand that I dry with a cotton pad. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes." I say confidently.

"How?" His hand flinches and he sucks in air through his teeth as I dab some rubbing alcohol on a cotton swap onto his cut.

"Charlie taught me." I answer sullenly.

"Was he a doctor?"

I shake my head. "No, but his dad was a paramedic for the fire department and he taught Charlie all the basics when he was a boy scout. Plus, in this world..."

"Right," Dwight watches as I prepare the needle and sutures, "Just didn't expect it."

"I'm mostly going off my embroidery knowledge," I smile at his arched brow, "my grandma." I finish up and tell Eugene to bandage it up. He can do that. I stand by as he wraps the gauze around Dwight's hand. "Not too tight." I instruct, which makes Dwight smirk lightly.

We leave together after Eugene hands me the logs. I scan through the logs casually as we get to the stairwell. Once we're down the first few steps, Dwight stops me on the level between the two sets of stairs. He encourages me to the wall and brushes some hair over my shoulder. He then leans down and put his mouth on my neck.

"I have to take these to Reed." I giggle as I grab his shirtsleeve.

"He can wait." Dwight works his hands up my shirt.

"Or you can," I lightly pull away, "Why so eager?"

"I liked seeing you in the infirmary," He snickers against my neck, "Taking charge, giving orders, patching me up."

"Well, Eugene's not..." I stop myself from finishing that sentence.

"Not what?" Dwight asks as his hands trail down to my pants. The door from the bottom opens and the two of us quickly pull apart, continuing to go down the stairs. I file behind Dwight as another Savior comes up the narrow stairs. Once we're out in the hall, Dwight snickers quietly and I smile.

"I should really get these to Reed." I tell him as we get to our floor. "And you should probably shower."

Dwight takes a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and nods. "Yeah."

"I'll come by yours later," I softly assure, "so we can talk...like you wanted." Dwight's eyes meet me and he nods, going into his room while I go down the hall.

 **...**

Reed asks me why I took so long and I have to explain to him that Eugene was just finishing up with the logs, so I waited. I know it was lying, but you know...he's, uh, new. Reed rolls his eyes and takes the logs, so we can get to work. As we make our way to his office, I catch sight of the man who ran off today. His face is black and blue and bloody from what I imagine was a beating he took from Dwight. Gary and Davy are standing by his bedside, probably waiting for the king of the pricks to arrive. I also notice that part of his light blue, button-up shirt is ripped along the bottom.

I'm conflicted, because as much as I don't want to feel sympathy for that man, I do. He had a knife that he was apparently going to use to maybe kill Dwight with. But seeing him sit there; beaten and defeated, it reminds me of Gordon's chained corpse outside and how he got there. That Dwight, despite knowing what it's like to not want to be here, is not so different than the other Saviors. _"There's nothing I haven't done that I haven't chosen to do."_

When we get to the office we, unfortunately, find Negan sitting in Reed's chair with his feet propped up on the desk. Lucille sits across his lap.

"There you are!" Negan says, sitting up. "I want an estimate of how much that asshole owes me after his stunt." _Oh, good._ He just wants to talk to Reed.

"Yeah, I got it," Reed flips through his papers, "I just needed to go to the mechanic's yard to get a sum of how much gas Dwight used to go get 11."

"I'll go do that." I volunteer, starting to make for the door.

"Alright, but hey!" I turn to face Reed. "Go straight to Cooper and then right back here, understand? I don't want you distracting 35 from his work."

I nod. "Okay." As I leave, I hear Negan ask Reed which one '35' is.

I had hoped I wouldn't see him until at least the two days he gave me were up. _Tell him_ _no, right now._ I don't know why I didn't decline his proposal last night, if you can call being called "fine as fuck" and reminded of how I almost let him fuck me in a bathroom, a proposal. Of course, I'm not going to marry him! As I've said before, why the women who agreed to marry him, agreed to marry him is none of my business, but it's not and would never be for me. It frustrates me that I even allowed what happened in the bathroom to happen. _Dwight doesn't know._ Shit.

I do as Reed instructed and get in and out of the mechanic's yard with a report of the gas used to go retrieve the runner. Negan's eyes are on me like a hawk and I do my very best not to look his way, as well as not appear like I'm trying to avert my whole self from him. Reed gives Negan the summary of what's owed from the guy and Negan gets up to "pay a visit" to the man which from what I saw that morning they beat Dwight, won't be pleasant. As he goes to leave, he leans towards me and inhales the air.

"See ya later, sweetheart." His exhaling breath gives me goosebumps which makes me cringe.

 **...**

Reed and I finish the books by five- thirty and thankfully Reed goes up to meet Negan. Should I tell Dwight about Alexandria and the proposal? What if he doesn't take it well? _He won't take it well._

I think about the time he was going to break things off with me until I mentioned how Negan tried to kiss me. Or when Negan wanted to speak with me in my room and Dwight intentionally had sex with me ten minutes before Negan came, just so he could get some satisfaction out of Negan knowing. _You wanted Negan in Alexandria._ No, I didn't and I don't now. _History repeats itself._

I need to stop all my unwanted thoughts from eating me. I open the door of Dwight's room and find the room empty. _Fuck!_ I run my hand through my hair as I pace on the rug on his floor. _Where is he?_ It's so hot in here.

I take my clothes off and then step up onto his bed to open the window because it's hotter than hell in this room, which is unusual. _Maybe it's you._ I put a hand on my warmish forehead. I must be getting sick.

Dwight walks in within five minutes of me being here and immediately is taken by surprise. I wade over to the edge of the bed and then briskly walk off of it like someone would a cliff. I trek barefoot over to him and practically slam my body into his as if I were a wave and his was a rock, planting my mouth onto his. I grab hold of his shirt and try to haul him towards the bed.

He takes my hands and pries them off, moving his head to break the kiss. "What are you doing?" He asks breathily.

"I'm trying to finish what we started in the stairwell." I try to kiss him, but he pulls away with a mildly concerned look on his face, so I press my body to his.

"Are you okay?" Dwight puts his hands on my arms to hold me back. "You look a little flush."

"I'm okay," I pant, "I've just been thinking about it all afternoon."

I back away and make it onto the bed, removing my panties. As I step out of them, I stumble a bit, almost losing my balance and I hear Dwight snicker to himself. He gives me the up and down before he walks over and places his hands on each side of my face; bringing me in for a lustful kiss, which aches through me. I reach around with one hand to frantically unhook my bra, while taking another fistful of his shirt. Dwight moves his hands to his vest that he rapidly takes off while putting his mouth on my neck, making me moan. After shedding his shirt over his head, he pushes me onto my back.

As I fall back, I'm immediately dragged by the legs until my feet touch the floor. He effortlessly parts my legs, nudging himself between them. Dwight's lips on the insides of my thighs make me even more impatient. "No, no, no," I plead breathlessly, "just do it, don't waste time." I put my hands over my eyes at how desperate I sound.

Dwight puts his mouth on me and I flinch at the first twinge of pleasure, lifting my foot onto his shoulder and putting a hand in his hair. His hand wraps around the leg as he gets more into his work. He knows what he's doing; I'll tell you that much. "Ooh, Dwight!" I weakly mewl as I find release.

I feel Dwight snicker against me and glancing down, I see him wipe his face before he moves up. With a hand on each side of me and a knee between my legs on the bed, Dwight situates over me. I smile with billowy cheeks and still heaving, as he looks down at me just before kissing me. I taste myself on his mouth as his tongue tangles with mine. After undoing his pants and kicking out of his shoes, Dwight turns me horizontally onto the bed, moving himself along with me. I wrap my arms around him when I feel his hardness slide into me.

 **...**

It's quick paced, a little rough, and fantastic. Dwight rolls off me and we both laugh with choppy breaths. I pass him his cigarettes and lighter and then put my underwear and shirt on. After partially dressing, I sit down on the armchair feeling a little less dauntless than I did a few minutes ago. Hell, a few seconds ago. I think it's because I'm remembering why I came here initially. _He wants to talk_. It's unnerving to try and fathom, since usually when someone asks another person if they can talk, it's something important. Why else would you make a point of asking? _Don't bring it up._

"I should go to my room and get some food." I randomly say while scratching my nose.

"You can eat something here," Dwight exhales smoke through his nose, "I don't care."

"I don't want to always mooch off you," I stand up, "I'll bring something back and share it."

"No offense, but I don't want your stale crackers." He grins. I smile as I take my pants from the back of the chair.

"I'll be right back." I tell him, before leaving him in his room.

Okay, he hasn't said anything about the "talk" we're suppose to have which makes me apprehensive. What if being in his room half- naked before he got in, made him reconsider? I know it's always been said that there's nothing men want more than to have a naked woman waiting for them at the end of the day, but let's be honest; it was kind of odd. I was not the alluring minx that would generally exist in the realms of such fantasy. More like a dizzy nymphomaniac. Maybe he's going to break things off for good, although last night and this morning would seriously camouflage that. _How will he react when Negan comes calling?_

"I'm sorry, Neal, I made a mistake!" The noisy neighbor woman sounds like she's crying when I make it to my room.

"A mistake?" Her partner scoffs angrily. "No, Rachel, that wasn't a mistake! A mistake is something that happens once, but this..."

This conversation, I think I can guess the subject, is loud enough to be clearly heard in the hall, but the inside of my room is like an audible front row seat when it comes to sound.

"I never meant for it to get out of hand like this, baby, I swear!" She pleads in a way that's all too familiar to me. "It won't happen again, I promise, that's why I wanted to tell you!"

"You didn't tell me though, did you?! I had to hear it from Yancy!"

Yancy's the Savior who guards the gates at night that lives down this hall. The one who is always yelling at them for being too loud when he's trying to sleep in the morning.

"I know, I know, but he told you before I got the chance, Neal, I was going to tell you myself!" She sounds pretty distraught.

"How long has it been going on?" Neal asks, as I get out my food.

"Four months before he left for the outposts." Rachel answers with a low shame in her tone.

"Four months?!"

"Right before he left was suppose to be the last time, but then he came here and we got to talking and it just happened." _I've said that before._

"Yeah, talking," Her husband chuckles sarcastically, "that's not what everyone was hearing in here when I was out _there_."

"I'm so sorry, baby, I am!"

"What if you had gotten pregnant? Would you even know for certain if it's mine, or his?" His question makes her cry harder and I can't bear to listen to anymore.

I solemnly walk back to Dwight's room, trying to block out the crying, begging, and yelling. Trying to keep painful memories at bay. I'm almost to tears when I open the door and go inside, finding Dwight dressed in just his jeans.

"Why am I not surprised?" He chuckles under his breath as he grabs his shirt off the floor, throwing it on, and then sitting back on the bed.

"Hm?" Is all I say.

"Peanut butter and crackers," Dwight points to the contents in my hands, "Your go to."

"I use to have preserves, but the jar was smashed." My smile wanes when Dwight's does.

"When Davy ripped your room apart." He looks down at his hands which hang off his knees.

"Yeah." I nod.

"Um," He clears his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about that."

"Look, I know I have to stay away from him," I claim, "Negan told me so." _Oh, lord, who forgot to gift you the good sense not to mention him?_

Dwight glances up at me. "No, that's not what I mean. Although, that's part of it."

"Oh," I whisper, "Well, what do you mean?" My heart thuds nearly into my ears.

"I, uh...I wanted to talk to you about maybe..." Dwight's eyes trail off in contemplation, which only intensifies my nerves, "...about maybe moving in here with me." His eyes fix back to me.

I stare at him, taken back. Move in with him? _Does he mean that?_ I must look like an idiot for just staring at him like I am. His eyes scan my face and I can tell he's possibly thinking he may have spooked me with what would be a step into commitment.

"Um-" Dwight begins, but I cut him off.

"You want me to?" I ask, pulling a leg on the armchair and snaking my arm around it.

"Yes, I want you to," He nods, "If you want to. I know we haven't really been together for that long, but I thought that maybe we could try."

"Try living together?"

"Yeah, that and maybe...try to be together. Like a relationship."

"I thought we technically were already." I shyly say, looking down at my knee.

"Right," Dwight nods, "But I mean more than just sex." All my whirling, anxious joys and fears geyser into my chest, bringing about an overwhelming sensation. "I like you, Nan and I like being with you."

"You do?" I rasp, staring at him with analytical eyes.

"Yeah." He nods, fiddling with the bandage around his hand. _He wants you._

"Okay." I impulsively answer.

Dwight glances up. "Okay?"

"Okay, I'll move in with you." I clarify with a meek smile that he returns.

"Okay." Dwight nods, reaffirming my words.

"Um, should I...should I go get my things?" I ask, while my insides are screaming.

"You don't have a lot of stuff," Dwight states, standing up, "We can probably bring it all in one trip.

Dwight's right, we manage to get my things to his room in one swoop. We fold the bedding, putting it along with my clothes in the trunk, and carry it to his room; leaving the clothesline empty and alone with the stripped bed. Neal left his room shortly after Dwight and I came to pack. Rachel can be heard crying in the room, which makes me feel bad for her since I understand. _You always hurt him._

"Your bedding is better than mine," Dwight determines, "Maybe we should change it out.

"Sure," Once that's done, my eyes circulate the room, "I'm all settled in." I dryly note.

"Well, you don't have a lot of stuff." Dwight replies, looking around as well.

"Fair enough." I go over to my trunk and open it, taking inventory of everything. I pull out the food and he shows me where to put it. All this moving in is enough to make me want to cry. It feels like it should have taken an hour or more. Not because I have all these possessions that need to be moved in, since that's clearly not the case. I agreed to move in and like a flash bang; it happened and I feel somewhat disoriented. _Get it together._

"Hungry?" Dwight asks, going over to the fridge.

"Yeah, but you don't have to fix me anything."

"It's not that big a deal," He glances over his shoulder, "I'm making dinner, so why wouldn't I make you something, too?" I smile and nod at him. "Just put your stuff anywhere, so you can use the trunk for your clothes."

"Okay." God, what am I doing? I quietly situate things around the room, which is pretty much just my desk clock in some random spot, I don't care. I leave the photo of the old resident and my ring hidden in the tear of the trunk's lining. The vase Negan gave me heightens my low grade, inward panic. Should I even dare put it somewhere in here?

"Do you like mustard?" Dwight's voice makes me turn my head away from the vase. "Yeah." I put the vase back in the trunk. _You can't tell him._

We have sandwiches for dinner; something I'm starting to believe is Dwight's strong suit. It's quiet for a while, shy small talk here and there, but we basically eat in silence. I think it's sinking into both of us that we kind of jumped into this with both feet. After dinner, we get into bed together and lay on our backs for a while. I don't know what he's thinking, but all I can think of is how stupid this might have been and how I'm going to give Negan an answer without Dwight ever finding out. Charlie also orbits my brain in the mix. _What are you doing?_

 **...**

The next morning, I'm jostled awake by both the dream I had and the movement in the bed. It was the same dream I had a few nights ago; the one where I fall back into the grave I was digging. It ended the same way, too. With the two figures above and the one whose hair shone by the sunlight, kicking the dirt into the hole. It reminds me of the note I forgot to bring up last night.

"Mornin'." Dwight sighs as he moves out of sleep, turning on his side that's towards me.

"Morning," I rasp, "You sleep well?"

Dwight opens his eyes. "Yeah. You?"

"Mhm." I fib, feigning a smile.

"Your shoulder's doing better?"

"It doesn't hurt too bad anymore." I reply, running the opposite hand through my hair.

"I have something for you."

I chuckle, inching closer to him. "Should I proceed with caution?" I sweep a hand across the blanket his way, figuring he's talking about morning wood.

Dwight laughs sleepily and moves the other way out of bed. He goes over to a black backpack and I watch as he unzips the front pocket, pulls something from it, and walks back over to the bed with what looks like a card. "I was gonna give it to you yesterday, but I forgot."

I take the offering in between my fingers and discover it's a postcard. I turn it around to the glossy picture on the back and smile into a laugh. "It's my tattoo," I rotate my arm, "Well, the painting behind it."

"I found 11 hiding out in some small art center," Dwight explains, walking over to his coffee maker, "It caught my eye on one of those gift shop stands. I thought you'd like it."

"I do," I touch the shiny petals and flip it back over, "Williamson Center for the Arts." I read the little title above the street address. I sit up, still fixed on the gift.

"It was pretty much untouched there." Dwight tells me, sitting down on the edge.

"Really?" I scoot myself over to him. "Like nothing was scavenged?"

"It's an art center, Nan," He snickers, looking at me, "The vending machines were broken into and it looked like a few things were taken from the gift shop, but aside from that what's there of any interest or value?"

I kiss his scarred cheek gratefully. "Thank you."

 **...**

As smoothly as the morning went, more relaxed and reassuring than last night, the day brings on the stress of having to face Negan. I figure when he said he'd give me two days, this being the second day, he meant two full days. So, by that logic, I won't have to answer to him until tomorrow. _Why not just go now?_

I'm nervous of reprisal that Negan may take towards me if I deny him. I mean, I can at least rationally assume that no physical punishment would be the result of denying marrying Negan, but there's always more that can be done. He could strip me of my rank as a Savior to a worker again. Would that mean I can't stay with Dwight and that I'd have to go back to the quarters? _You can't go back there._ I really want to hope that Negan wouldn't be that petty over a simple rejection, but you never can tell with him.

Also, how is Dwight going to react? I know the honest thing to do would be to tell him about both incidents, but if I were good at that, I would've never had the problems I had with Charlie. Is there a way I can keep it a secret, like a less he knows the better kind of thing? _Old habits die hard._

While heading towards the mechanic's yard, Hal suddenly walks ahead of me without acknowledging me, so I begin to walk faster. "Hal!" But he keeps walking. "Hal!" I finally reach him and take his arm to get him to stop. "Hey, stop for a minute."

"I really don't want to talk to you right now, Nan," He says bluntly, continuing to walk towards the yard.

"What? Why?" I try to match his strides. "Hal, what's wrong?"

Hal stops abruptly and shifts my way with stony eyes. "You know where I just was?"

"In the quarters?"

"Reed came and got me. Brought me inside to have a chat...with Negan." My heart sinks into my stomach.

"W-what did he want?" I dreadfully ask.

"He asked if I had military experience. Said that Reed said you made some sort of mentioning of it, once or twice." His eyes look gravely betrayed.

"That's a lie, Hal. I never said anything to Reed!" I protest.

"Yeah, well...I got offered a chance to rank up, because of it."

"Why didn't you lie and say that you didn't?"

"Because he already knew the truth, Nan, I could tell." Hal starts for the yard.

"You're a Savior now?" I ask quietly and in disbelief, treading behind him.

"I don't know, he told me to consider my options which doesn't really imply that I have much of a choice now, does it?"

"Hal, I swear I didn't say anything. You _know_ I wouldn't."

"Can you stop following me?" He stops and turns to me again. "I just...I have to go back to work." And with that, he stalks off. _Unbelievable._

I immediately march to find Reed, whom I find out by the coops, talking to Bryan the Savior that oversees things here.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" I ask with a heavy tone.

Reed looks me over and then hands Bryan's logs back to him. "What do you want?"

"Did you tell Negan that I said that Hal had military background?" I glare at him and he just leaves the coops with the notion for me to follow.

"Yeah, I told him that yesterday," Reed unapologetically admits, "After I told you not to mess around and distract 35, which you always do, Negan asked which one 35 was." I do recall hearing that as I left the office. "So, I gave him a report on what Hal does for him on a daily basis. How he never causes trouble, follows the rules, and how Cooper and others prefer him for certain tasks and projects. I also said how I thought he might have been a soldier before the collapse."

"And how did you make that assumption?" I scoff.

"You." Reed answers plainly.

"Me? I never I said anything like that!" I retort hotly.

"I heard call him 'soldier' on more than one occasion," Reed glances sternly at me, "And don't give me that 'it's a term of endearment' crap."

"That was a hell of hunch, Reed." I huff.

"Yeah, well, I was right wasn't I? So, you can call me Sherlock and get back to work." Reed leaves me standing near the bread station. I look over at the bakers who look upon me dully, yet abhorrently. I tread away from them and the smell of bread that's killing me. _Great, Nan, you've managed to fuck up your best friend's life._ Inadvertently, at that.

 **...**

Later on, I go back to my new residence and grab my shower stuff. As I shuffle down the hall, I hear Rachel crying in her room and despite my nature, I stop and knock.

"What?" She snaps inside the room.

"Um, I lived to the right of you." I call back; not mentioning my name since she probably doesn't know it. The door opens startlingly and I'm confronted by a pretty woman with warm brown skin and tear swollen eyes.

"Look, why don't you go fuck yourself and mind your own business, alright?" She abrasively suggests. "I don't need anyone else crawling up my ass about the yelling."

"I'm not here about that." I claim, unsure of why I actually knocked. I wasn't planning on consoling her, on cheater to another.

"So, what do you want, then?" Rachel leans her hand on the door.

"I moved out of my room last night, so it's, uh, vacant if you-" I'm interrupted by the slamming of the door in my face, "need it." When I hear quiet cries again, I leave for the showers.

After having showered, I shuffle back towards my room, deep in thought. I have to talk with Dwight about Negan, but how? While Dwight would likely never admit it openly that he hates Negan, I know that he must and so this is a delicate subject to address. Pretending that Negan will keep this discreetly between us is utterly naive and so I have to be the one to tell Dwight. I have to; I can't let history repeat itself. _You have to try._

"Hey." Laura strides up to me from behind.

"Oh, hi." I reply politely.

"Wanna doing something later?" She asks.

"Um, I can't," The heated sound of more arguing becomes apparent as we turn the corner, "Dwight and I are already doing something." _Unbeknownst to Dwight._

"I bet," She says, humored, while inclining her head upward to listen, "Jesus. Those two went from always fucking to always fighting in nothing flat."

"Yeah." I agree quietly, wanting to pass as quickly as possible.

"That's what happens when you get involved with Simon," Laura adds acridly, "nothing but trouble."

"His other fans seem to be fine." As I say this, the door to the couple's bedroom flings open and Rachel storms out with a blanket, pillow, and backpack with her. Neal yells from his room in mock pity at "poor Rachel" moving out and how she'll be back. We walk a little slower as she opens my old room door and then slams it shut behind her.

"We'll see how fine they are when the pregnancy tests are taken," Laura continues in a lower tone, "Cause from what I heard, he doesn't pull out."

"He's not worried about getting them pregnant?" I scoff, a little peeved.

"I don't know. But Simon seems like the kind of dude who'd empty into you and then ask what you want from him when you show up with that pink plus sign." Laura's down tone raises my brow, but I don't inquire. "Well, I guess that's what the morning after pills for."

"We have that?" I ask.

"Yeah," I see Laura wiggle her nose the same way I do when something's bothering me, "Well, I gotta go. See ya, dollface."

As soon as I get back to the room, I realize I forgot my sweater in Reed's frigid office, so I begrudgingly have to go back before he closes up for the day. When I make it to the factory floor, I pass the quarters, which seem to be loud with some commotion. I look over and notice a Savior rummaging through 11's things without him present. Another worker stands by and soon the Savior drops the crate right at the worker's feet, pocketing a jar or something. The worker then squats down to the crate and rifles through the crate. _Wolves and vultures._

"If you're here because you've gotten over your hissy fit and want to help with the books, you're too late." Reed says, as he takes the keys from his jacket pocket.

"I'm not here for that." I claim. _Hissy fit?_ "I left my sweater in your office. Can I get it?"

Reed refrains from locking the door and lets me go inside. "Look, Hal's a hard worker," he tells me, "he's a good asset as a worker, but if he's more useful as one of us, then that's where he belongs."

"And what of he likes doing what he does now?" I retort, stepping out of the office with my sweater.

"Trust me, he's gonna be utilized everywhere Negan wants him," Reed locks the door, "But believe it or not, soldiers who are already trained and have half the diligence that kid has are hard to come by. Plus, his life will get better." He starts to walk toward the stars, so he can take the book to Negan and I follow.

"Yeah, better." I mutter sarcastically under my breath. This only confirms that Hal was right when he said he won't really have a much of a choice. "Did 11 go to the infirmary, or something? I saw more people taking the rest of his stuff."

Which I suppose is not unusual. Hell, the Saviors will just come right into your quarter and take something and be totally justified by the rules around here in doing so. But the workers generally don't steal from each other unless that person...

"No, he died like forty minutes ago," Reed states unfazed, "Had some bruising that looked like broken ribs, so he probably bled internally."

"From the beating he took as punishment yesterday?"

"That on top of the one D gave him before he came back." Reed continues to walk down the hall while I stop at my door.

"Well, which one was worse?" I call out. Reed puts his arms in the air and disappears around the corner. I go inside and am alone. I sit down in the armchair and put my head in my hands.

 **...**

It's about eight or so when the door finally opens and Dwight steps in. The smell of his foresty soap breezes through with him and he goes over to put away his shower gel.

"Hey." He greets nonchalantly as he brushes back his damp hair with his hand.

"Hi." I shallowly greet back, still sitting in the chair I've been in for nearly two hours.

"Have you eaten yet?" He asks, going over to the fridge.

"Nope." I shake my head.

"Are you mad, or something?" Dwight scoffs, half- jokingly. I shake my head and he sighs. "Well, then why are you so quiet?"

"That worker died today," I touch each of my fingers in thought, "the one you brought back yesterday."

"Yeah, I know." He doesn't sound remorseful or troubled.

"Okay." I nod, figuring that he wouldn't feel sorry.

"Did you know him?"

"Did you?" I glance over my shoulder and see him look at me with furrowed brows. "You use to be a worker and have been here longer than me." He doesn't respond, which makes me think that maybe he did know the guy. _Ask him about the note._

"Here." Dwight hands me a plate with a sandwich on it. I take the plate and place it on the arm of the chair before taking a half between my fingers. "What?" He asks when he catches me looking at it without taking a bite yet.

"Nothing, I'm just not hungry." I put the sandwich half back on the plate and get up from the chair to walk it over to the fridge. As I close the fridge door, I turn to find him staring at me strangely. _Ask him._ I go over to him and sit down beside him awkwardly, like I've never sat next to him before. I then put a hand on his leg and open my mouth to speak.

"Stop." He frustratingly moves his leg from under my hand.

"I was just-"

"You have something on your mind and you're trying to use sex to distract from it," He bluntly states, "So why don't you just come right out and tell me what's up?"

"I was not." I'm a little offended that he caught on so quickly. As much I want to ask him about the note and tell him about Negan, it's always been in my nature to go running back to my old ways so I don't have to confront things.

"Yeah, you were," Dwight argues, "So what's wrong?"

 _One- two- three- four- five- go!_ My words catch in my mouth. Dwight gets up from the bed and takes his plate over to the sink. _One- two -three - four- five-_ _go!_ "I need to ask you something."

"What?" He shifts his upper half towards me.

"The note I found the other morning," I can see his face drop expression, "Who wrote it?" Dwight looks down towards the spot where I had said I found it. "Who was it for?"

"Nan, I told you-"

"I know what you told me, Dwight, but that wasn't the truth. I want to know...I need to know." I begin picking at my thumb.

"Why do you need to know?" His tone is rising in heat.

"Because I just do," I insist, "If you want to try at a relationship, then you have to be honest with me, right?"

Dwight gazes at me with the kind of look that probably means he's contemplating one of two things. Either he's going to tell me the truth, or he's thinking he made a mistake in getting into this relationship with me. He sighs through his nose. "She wrote it."

"Who'd she write to?" I can feel the tears coming up, although I suppose I've basically known that it was Sherry who wrote it since that morning.

"Nan, I-"

"Who did she write to?" I repeat more firmly.

"She wrote to him."

"To Carson?" I croak, stepping over to him.

"To Daryl." Dwight's answer devastates me.

"Carson didn't help Sherry did he?" I sniff to try and keep the tears away. _Why am I so leaky?_

"No." He reaches out, but I walk away over to the armchair.

"I knew it," I look down into my hands, "When Negan accused him of letting Daryl out for Sherry, I just knew it couldn't be true. And I didn't want to see it, because..."

"Because?" Dwight sits down on the bed closest to the chair.

"Because I wanted to believe that you weren't like the rest of them. That you weren't as cruel and awful as the Saviors."

"I am a Savior," He scoffs, blinking up to meet my eyes.

"You didn't use to be," I glance bleakly over at him, "But from what I know now and from what I've seen, you could fool anyone from thinking otherwise."

"Yeah, well maybe that's not such a bad thing." Dwight takes out his pack of cigarettes and lighter.

"I have to tell you something," His uncaring confession has prepared me for the second half of this shipwreck in the making, "Negan asked me to marry him the other night before I brought you back to my room."

Dwight quickly looks back at me with a sudden change in demeanor. _Here it comes._ "What?"

"I guess he's taken a liking to me and wants me to be a wife." Dwight's severely holding gaze doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would.

"You told him no?" He rigidly asks.

I shake my head. "I haven't given him an answer yet, I'm suppose to tomorrow."

Dwight's pissed off, but I can tell he's trying to remain calm and unbothered. "What are you gonna say?"

 _Ouch._ "What do you think?" I huff, raising my voice a bit.

"I don't know." He stands up from the bed and walks aimlessly to the other side of the room, smoking. _Double ouch._

"What do you mean you don't know?" I stand up, too, wanting to approach him. "I thought you wanted to be with me?"

"I did, I do. And I thought you wanted the same thing, but if you wanted to be with me, then why haven't you said no to him yet?" Dwight exhales smoke through his nose. "If he let you think about it, you could've answered him sooner. I don't know, maybe after you agreed to move in here last night."

 _If you don't say so now, he'll find out later._ "He kissed me in Alexandria and I didn't pull away right away." I blurt out.

Dwight's blank expression turns disappears. "What do you mean not right away?" His voice raises.

"I kissed him back," _Oh, god it's happening again_ , "B-but I did pull away. Before we could go any further."

Dwight runs a hand over is face. "Get out."

"Dwight, I'm sorry. I wanted to-" I stop when he puts a hand up.

"Fucking save it!" He shouts, before lowering his voice. "I don't want to hear it, alright?"

I walk towards him, beseeching. "I'm going to tell him no tomorrow. I don't want to be with him." _This is how it use to be with Charlie._ I suddenly recoil with that painful realization. _Fight for this_. "I-"

"I can't do this, again, Nan," Dwight goes over to the bed and starts to pull the bedding off the mattress, "I knew he wanted you, he told me so right before I had to go after Gordon. Said you were hot and that if I wasn't hard whenever I was around you then my penis must be broken." He laughs sardonically."But I didn't know you wanted him, too."

"I don't." I barely say.

"That's what she said, too. But I..." He sighs, exhausted inside and out. He rolls up my bedding in a ball and takes it over to my trunk as I numbly watch him do so. After he closes it down, he looks up at me with what I think is a little disappointment. Then, he lifts the trunk over towards the door, but I take the side handle, grazing my hand against his. _Do something before it's too late._

"I can take it by myself." I croak. _No._ Dwight lets go of the one side and then the other as I take it. He then goes over to the door and opens it for me. "Bye." He doesn't say it back and it burns.

 **...**

I wake up the next morning in Laura's bed, wrapped like a wretch in my blanket on top of her bed, while she sleeps under hers. I was going carry my trunk back to my room last night, but as I went to, I remembered that Rachel took me up on my offer earlier. Guess, I thought I wouldn't screw things up as quickly as I did. Two days has to be a new record.

Lucky for me Laura didn't ask details when I came knocking on her door. She just let me in and asked if I wanted any of her pasta. I declined, got out my blanket, and then went straight to bed. I stared at the wall facing away from her for a long time and when I was sure she had fallen asleep, I cried as quietly and as heavily as possible.

This morning, we woke up and were pretty much silent with one another. I think Laura can kind of sense that lack of desire for conversation. She fixes scrambled eggs, which she flavors with onions and bell peppers and makes coffee. After eating in practical silence, we head off to our individual jobs. For once, my thoughts aren't running amok in my head. I just mindlessly go down to take inventory and try to figure things out.

It's not until noon-ish that Reed finds me to tell that Negan radioed for me to go up top to speak with him. I knew he had before Reed told me, since I heard it from another Savior's radio near by, but I didn't make a move from work until then. I hand him my clipboard and tread towards the stairs. My eyes wander to the quarters as I pass them and I try to look for Hal, but use my common sense when I don't see him. He's probably out working and doesn't want to talk to me anyway.

The smell of perfume and food nauseates me when I make it to the top floor. I walk past the room where I can see his wives and almost gag when I get a stronger whiff of the food. _Get it together. It's just your nerves._ I meet the double doors gravely and knock without hesitation, ignoring the figures I see from the side of my eye this time.

"Come in." Negan commands inside. I go inside promptly and find him sitting, once again, in the black leather sofa. He's got a mug of something held up to his mouth but I can see that he's smiling from his eyes. "Well, don't you look a sight to behold?" He lowers his mug, chuckling at my drained complexion.

"You wanted to see me?" I ask bleakly as he stands up and begins to walk over.

"I did," Negan smiles as he towers over me, "I've been _really_ patient these last two days, but now I _need_ that answer, sweetheart." I look down and nod in understanding. He tips my head back up to meet his eyes. "So, Nan..." His brilliant smile grows more serious, "are you gonna have me to wed?"

* * *

 **Once again, thank you, thank you for all the loveliness! I know this chapter's rapid rise and fall of D/N in two days time seems a bit wonky, but sometimes that's how fast good and bad things come and go in real life. Plus, I think we all could agree that Dwight was not going to take the news of the proposal or the kiss at Alexandria well.**

 **Stay tune for next week's chapter, which I've already began writing, to see what happens next!**

 **P.S. I hope the Gatsby quote isn't misconstrued as Nan trying to repeat her past failings, as is just something she's backsliding into.**


	22. It's For The Best

"I didn't quite catch that, darlin'," Negan leans closer to my face, "you're gonna have to speak up."

I look down and clear my throat. "I said-"

Negan draws my face up to meet his penetrating gaze. "Speak. Up."

"Yes," I answer less timidly than before, "I will marry you, Negan."

Negan's low smile doesn't spread right away. He still means business. "You know what that means, right?"

 _Take it back._ I nod my head. "Yes."

"What does it mean, Nan?" He quizzes.

"It means Dwight and I are done." The words taste like bile in my mouth. _Get out of here._

"That's right," His voice becomes sterner, "That's not going to be a problem for you, is it?"

"No." I mean that.

"Because that shit does not fly with me." His smile drops.

"It won't be a problem." I numbly state, looking him straight in the eye.

"And you understand that certain...wifely duties will be expected of you?" Negan's finger outlines my jawbone.

"Yes."

"And that won't be a problem either?"

"...No."

Negan's eyes scan my face for any hints of falsehood. When he's satisfied, his smile returns and he leans down as if to kiss me. I lower my eyes as his lips are just on the verge of touching mine when he stops. He lets out a throaty chuckle before pulling back which makes me turn my face in shame. "Goddamn, this is fan-fucking- _tastic!_ " Negan raises his fists in excitement. "I cannot express just how overcome with joy I am!"

I give him a watered down smile and stand rigidly still as he picks up the radio off the leather sofa. He sends out an order for people to gather on the main floor, which panics me. He then hollers out the door for "Frankie" to come in here. After that, Negan returns to me, tucking hair behind my ear.

"Um, I-"

"Not gettin' cold feet already, are you?" He chuckles, but I know it's a serious question. _Turn back now._

"No." I shake my head.

"Good," He whispers intimately in my ear, "Because I don't want another runaway bride situation on my hands." He plants a lustful kiss behind my ear. The sound of a high-heeled pair of footsteps comes in the room, making Negan briefly look over. "I'm gonna have Frankie spruce you up a bit and then we are going down to make the announcement of our nuptials."

"What did you call me for?" The woman asks cold, but politely.

"Frankie," Negan turns me around to face a tall redheaded woman, "this is Nan. She's just agreed to marry me and join our little circle, so I'm gonna need you to get her ready. Twenty minutes."

"Okay." She nods while giving me a civil smile. Negan leaves after making some joke about not seeing the bride before her wedding. "Uh, hi." The woman greets once we're alone, extending her hand.

"Hi." I shake her hand weakly. The awkwardness is clear in the room.

She clears her throat. "Well, um, we've got twenty minutes. So, how about we get you into a dress and some...different shoes," We both glance down at my Converse, "And the rest we can do later on for tonight." The rest? I sheepishly go with her.

"Um, this is a wedding?" I nervously ask, trying to figure how to weasel myself out of this.

"Yeah, in a way." Frankie answers as we go down the hall into a bedroom that's good in size and decor. Way nicer than anything downstairs. I notice two twin beds on each side of the room, which I suppose means I'll have a roommate. She begins to go through a rack of dresses which are mostly all black. After a few seconds, she looks over at my uneasy face. "I promise it's not like anything you're thinking. Here, this should fit." She hands me a blue polka dot sundress that looks oddly familiar.

"Thanks." I say, taking it from her and sliding the hanger off it. I glance over at her as if asking if she's going to stand there while I get dressed. I know, after being use to dressing and undressing in the showers and quarters, I shouldn't be so sensitive about privacy, but I just need a minute.

"There's, uh some shoes there that might go good with the dress," She takes the hint and starts for the door, "If they don't fit, maybe you can try someone else's shoes."

I nod and she leaves. As soon as she closes the door, I gasp and put a hand over my mouth to stop from crying. What am I doing? This is insane. _Just tell him you changed your mind._ As calmly as I can, I start to undress, sniffing my tears back. I don't have anyplace to go. I gave my room away, I can't put Laura out, and if my refusal meant I may have to go back to the quarters as some petty rejection punishment, then I can't go back to the quarters. It isn't about the work, or the living conditions. I'm not welcome there anymore. _You are_ proving _them all right_. There's a light knock on the door.

"Are you dressed?"

"Yeah." I call back, clearing my raspy voice. Frankie steps back in and immediately looks down, flinching her brows ever so slightly.

"You have a...tattoo by your knee." She notes.

"Yeah?" I self-consciously look down. "Does Negan not like tattoos?" I'd find that a bit hypocritical, since I saw a few tattoos on him when we were in Alexandria, but right now its a little sliver of hope. He might change his mind about me, if I don't meet his standard of beauty.

"Um, well...no," She stirs around the room, "It's just that any tattoos I've seen on the other girls are barely noticeable and hidden through clothing." I catch her notice my arm and ankle.

"Oh." I stifle back a grin as she gives me a pair of tan wedges. As I put them on, she spritzes some perfume on me. This is the first time that someone possibly devaluing my body because of my tattoos doesn't anger me. _There's still a chance._

 **...**

 _This is all happening too fast._ I walk with a pit in my stomach as I approach the catwalk where Negan already is standing, waiting. My chest clenches as I catch a glimpse of the kneeling crowd. I can make out that blonde head by the furnace. Negan turns and looks at me with smiling eyes as he takes in my appearance. _Please be repulsed._ However, I don't think he notices, since he mainly focuses on the dress.

He whistles. "That's one of my favorites," he puts a hand on my lower back to usher me forward, "I like it better on the floor." With that said, we walk across the catwalk towards the people. I trail anxiously behind Negan, begging whatever celestial force may be for my pathetic soul that Dwight doesn't look at me when it comes time to stand. Negan bangs Lucille thrice on the railing, which makes people stand. Figures, she would be the best man at our wedding. _Go back while you still can._

"The past few days have been rough," he begins, "Examples had to be made and we lost a few folks." _Because of you._ "But it's a brand new day and so we are _all_ going to move forward, work hard, and follow all the rules, because that's how we stay safe and survive." He looks over at me and smiles before taking my arm to bring me into better view. I don't want to look down, for fear of locking eyes with people I know. _With him._

"I'm sure most of you know Nan. Yeah, some of you know her _real_ well," I can make out some indistinguishable heads turn towards Dwight, "Two days ago, I asked her to marry me. Said I would provide for her and take care of her, etcetera, etcetera in exchange for her loving and loyal devotion to me." I want the earth to split open and swallow me whole. "And she said yes," His eyes turn to mine for a moment, "So, Nan will be awarded the same luxuries, privileges, and respect that my other wives are given."

"All that being said, I want to make a point, that I thought went without saying, but apparently still needs to be made fucking clear. Nan is expected to be faithful to me and only me, same as my other wives. All past relationships, or school yard flirtations are done," I scathe my thumb at that obvious dig towards Dwight, "If you need a reminder of what a grave fuckin' no-no trying to fool around with her would be, I advise you to ask around about what it feels like to have an iron pressed to your face."

 _Don't look down._ My eyes betray me and I glance down towards Dwight, whose eyes are cast down, which I thought would be a relief to me, but it isn't. I catch a rapid glimpse of Hal, but make sure to focus my eyes elsewhere. Negan pulls me close, as if to kiss me, but I meekly convey that I don't want to, as lowly as possible, trying to play it off as being shy.

"We have to make it official, sweetheart," he whispers with a wickedly soft smile. I look down in understanding and then close my eyes, as his mouth possesses mine unchastely. There's no real cheer, but a few random Saviors clap while others remain indifferently silent. The kiss lasts only a moment or so, but a damning one at that. Negan's licks his lips with satisfaction and stares at me with victory, before turning back to the crowd. "Because of the happy occasion, you all get a hot meal tonight, no points needed." There's more clapping, but still no enthusiasm. Negan puts his hand on the small of my back again and directs me to leave at last. I want to look back at Dwight, but I know better.

"That's it?" I ask more to myself than him. I know Frankie said it wouldn't be what I thought, but that was really short and unceremonious, which I guess works out for me in some sense.

"It?" Negan turns to me.

"We-we're married now?" I furrow my brows in confusion.

"What did you space out through all that?" Negan chuckles a bit. "Yes, Anna, you and I are officially hitched. What'd you expect? The fantasy you've been dreaming about since you were eight? Tossing your bouquet to the girls, eating fancy wedding cake, and driving off into the sunset with cans tied to the bumper?

"No." I firmly state. I never had such dreams when I was a girl.

"Good, because that's not the world we live in anymore and I hate all that sappy crap," He glances over my shoulder, "I've got shit to do, so the ladies are going to take care of you. Get you all nice and smellin' good for tonight. I'll have some of the boys go to your room and bring all your shit up to your new room. Hope you don't mind taking a dead girl's bed."

"I can get my own stuff." I claim, picking at my thumb.

"Don't be ridiculous, Nan," Negan furrows his brows, but not in anger, "You don't have to lift a finger on your wedding day."

I nod submissively, not having it in me to argue. "All my stuff is in Laura's room."

"Why is that?"

"I gave my room away to someone who needed it." _Because I thought I would be with Dwight._

"How charitable," Negan chuckles sardonically, "well, then that's where they'll go to collect, my little bleeding heart." He kisses my forehead and then leans down and whispers a promise in my ear, before walking away in the opposite direction. All I can say about what he whispered was that it was dirty enough to make me blush.

 **...**

"Just the trunk." I point out, feeling weird for having the two men Negan sent fetch my belongings for me. I know Negan said I didn't have to do it myself, but I at least wanted to oversee it. They share a look, probably expecting more possessions from a former Savior.

"What about the bedding?" Laura's obviously present when we come.

I get into my trunk and take out the remainder of my bedding and place the balled up contents on the blanket Laura had folded. "I don't need it anymore, so you can have it. Or give it to someone you think might want it."

One of the Saviors takes the trunk by himself and hauls it out of the room, leaving the other to walk off with him even though it's a one-man job. Laura and I look at one another. "Um, Nan," Laura scratches her nose, "if this was because you didn't want to burden me, I wouldn't have-"

"It isn't," I interject, "I was asked two days ago, I thought about it, and it's in my best interest." I don't want her to bring up Dwight, or the possibility of staying with her.

"You were one of us, Nan," She says low and mildly, "it's not like you were behind on points or something."

I smile meekly at the sadness I think she's trying to hide as well as the lack of judgment in her tone. "I can still...come by sometimes, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Laura grins before looking at the clock on the wall, "Well, I gotta get back to work."

"Okay." We walk out of her room. I stand alone in the hall as she disappears around a corner. I claw my thumb some more, resolving to take a walk of shame up to my new, anything but humble, abode. As I round the corner, I hear a door close and footsteps fading behind me in the opposite direction. _Don't look back_. I turn and my heart falls into my stomach and I'm starting to think there's nothing there watching over me after all, or at least not anymore.

I catch a glimpse of Dwight turning the down the corner at the other end of the hall. I almost take a step in that direction, but think better of it. _You've done enough._

 **...**

The other wives are waiting for me when I finally climb up to the top of the factory in the room they call "the drawing room", as if we're in a goddamn Jane Austen novel. Frankie stands up first and introduces me to every one.

"This is Nan," I don't know why she's telling them my name since they were there when Negan married us, "Nan, this is Tanya, Amber, Danica, and Hazel." We all say our formalities and then Frankie says we should "get to work" which doesn't seem too flattering.

Step one of the grooming process, involves me taking a shower in the bathroom they...or _we_ share with Negan. The bathroom is an executive bathroom that the former manager of this factory probably had to him or herself in ye olden days, although I don't know why the manager would need their own shower. It's fairly big, with a standard shower, sink, and toilet and is paved with white tile that has decorative flora every ten tiles or so. The floor is just standard, unappealing bathroom tile. Aside from some vases with freshly picked flowers on the sink and tiny little homey touches here and there, the only stand out addition to the bathroom is the claw foot bathtub in the center.

Apparently, if you want to take a bath, you have to either fill it up with water from the shower, or have people from the kitchen bring up warm water. I'm told that they all take showers, for the most part, out of convenience. I'm left alone to shower for the thirty minutes I'm now allowed with shampoo, conditioner, soap, and body oil. The shampoo smells like apricots and honey and the conditioner smells the same. The soap is just a simple bar of creamy white soap. When I get out, I pat myself dry and apply the neroli scented body oil that dries quickly into my skin, not leaving any stickiness. Just baby soft skin.

The wives come back in just as I'm putting on my underwear. I don't think it's necessary for them all to be here, dolling me up, but I think they are out of curiosity. Like they want to get a feel of this new woman whom they're going to be sharing a husband with and spending plenty of time around. I notice that they all take note of my visible tattoos that makes me, again, a little hopeful of this being a sign that Negan won't take it well. _You made this bed._ I revert back to silence as they take me to my new room.

It's clear that someone lived on my side, not that that was ever concealed. Sherry's dresses still hang upon a rack, while three or four pairs of shoes are allgined in a row on the floor. My bed's a twin with a black iron bed frame. The bedding is cream colored with green thread looping around yellow and purple thread stitched out to be buttercups and lavender.

I'm told that they all borrow each other's things every now and again. So if I ever get bored of what's in here; clothes, shoes, jewelry, I can always ask to borrow. Hazel gives me sheer black lingerie to change into for the night as they all paint me like a portrait. Tonya combs my eyelashes with a black gunk that's been poured and settled into an old breath mint tin, while Frankie pats some peppermint oil and bees wax on my lips to "plump and soften them". Danica gives me a pedicure and paints my toes with a mauvey pink nail polish. She offers to paint my fingernails, but I decline because it'd be a waste since I bite my nails, so she just files them. The only person in the room who isn't prepping me is Amber. She sits on the other bed across the room, sullenly staring at me now and then, but I don't blame her. I don't want to do this either.

When my hair dries, I brush it out myself and then reluctantly let Hazel pin it up in an elegant, messy bun. She claims she won't make me suffer much, since Negan will just ruin it, which makes me uneasy.

We all eat dinner around six in another room that's been made into a dining room. The table is dark wood and the chairs are all upholstered. A gorgeous chandalier hangs above the center of the table. This is where the rules and responsibilities are laid out for me. I'm expected to be well behaved, cleanly and presentable, and be devoted to my marriage to Negan. It's nothing I'll need to write down to remember.

"We eat dinner every evening around six, with or without him," Tonya says as she pushes around her steamed and buttered vegetables. I nod my head which has been my response to most everything these past few hours.

"Are you always this quiet?" Danica asks.

"Uh, pretty much." I feign a grin, taking a sip of wine, wishing I could just tilt the whole thing back and fill it back up. I glance up at the clock, dreading the hour when Negan will emerge from the shadows.

"You don't have to worry about, um, certain things with Negan," Frankie enters the stale conversation, taking notice, "You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. Negan won't force you."

"But sex is a given, right?" I say twirling my fork around my pasta without any intention of eating. When there's a bit of silence, I look up from my plate and blush at having said something that might have upset them. "I just mean, um...that's what he gets out of all this." Tonya smiles sympathetically at me, but after that we're all pretty much silent for a while. _Way to go, jackass._

The quiet makes me think about a few hours ago and how humiliating it was for me to be made a spectacle of in front of the whole community. I had hoped that when I agreed to marry him, that would be that, and no exhibition would be made. I wanted to fall into obscurity as just one more of his wives. I wanted so badly to be that girl that no one talked about anymore. No one ever asking what became of that one baker girl who tried to screw her way to the top. _She got there._

Hazel clears her throat. "So, how old are you, Nan?"

"I turned twenty-seven in January." I answer flatly.

"Where are you from originally?"

"Philadelphia."

"Do have any family?" Amber suddenly asks after not speaking since she first said hello.

Frankie coughs. "Um, so," she swallows a bite of her food, "Is Nan short for anything?"

I glance at Amber whose cheeks redden from it being made clear, through Frankie's interjection, that her question wasn't appropriate. "It's short for Anna," I answer, "And no, I don't have any family. They're all gone."

"Sorry." Amber apologizes softly.

"It's fine." I get up, not really hungry, and excuse myself to go to my room. As I go down the hall a ways, I hear Tonya scold Amber in a hasty whisper.

I close the door and immediately spot my reflection in the stand mirror across the room. I pull off the dress over my head. I watch myself in the mirror as I do so, tossing it to the side, and then walk over to the mirror in my lingerie and black wedges. The lingerie is see through around the breasts and butt. I huff at it and how I use to never wear stuff like this. Charlie always thought my regular under attire was cute and sexy in the "eat pizza on the couch and watch T.V." sort of way. I once bought a simple set like this once, on a whim after going with my friend Rosemary to pick out some for her wedding night.

 _"Do you like it?" I blush, biting the side of my lip self-consciously._

 _"Yeah, I like it," Charlie puts down his fork and pulls me closer to him by my hips, "But it's a little fancy to be eating pancakes in. I don't think I've ever seen you not drip syrup on yourself."_

 _"Well, I guess I can just take it off and cram it in the back of a drawer."_

 _"Oh, you're gonna take it off," he chuckles, "but I don't see why you'd have to neglect it."_

 _"Yeah, that's what I thought." I snicker as he kisses my neck._

A knock on the door startles me. "Um, Negan's waiting in his bedroom," Tonya says while opening the door, "He wants you to go in."

"Thanks." I reply, taking the rosy pink silk robe from the back of a chair and slipping it on myself. As I get to the door, Tonya grabs my elbow gently.

"He won't um..." She seems a little abashed as she tries to warn me of something.

"It's okay, you don't have to." I assure her. This is the one thing I don't need help with. I can play the part well.

"Well, it's just," Her grip gets a little more desperate, "he will, uh, pull out...but, you know, sometimes accidents happen and I just wanted you to know that you have options if you think he might have, um..."

"Okay, thanks." I leave down the other end of the hall by myself.

When I get to the door, I open it without knocking, since he's expecting me. The room is dark, save for a lamp that dimly lights the room. I walk in and close the door behind me, scanning the room for him. I find him by the dresser, setting Lucille down against it. He smiles when he sees me standing by the door.

"Well, hello," He nonchalantly strides over to me, "I can see the girls took care for you."

"They were nice." I put my hand on the opposite arm, soothing myself.

"Good, good," Negan wastes no time in finding my robe tie, feeling it between his fingers, "Just one of _many_ nice things that I can provide you." He pulls the tie undone. "Take it off."

I pull one side off my shoulder, while Negan does the other. Negan's eyes immediately travel down as his calloused hands skim my flesh in exploration. I feel like a show dog being inspected, the way he tilts his head here and there, lifting my arm up to see my tattoo. He spots my rib whisk and then stands me back a bit to get a better glimpse of my lower half. About the time he puts his boot between my feet and nudges one foot over, I stalk past him, offended. He wolf-whistles behind me which makes me even more flustered.

"Can I have my robe back?" I hold my hand out.

"No, you may not." Negan goes over to the coffee table where I notice two glass flutes, a bottle of champagne, and a plate of strawberries. Another perk I'm sure he wants me to take note of. With his back turned, I move to go collect the robe from off the floor. As I pull it up, Negan's suddenly reaches around me and snatches it from my fingers. "You can have it back later. Maybe." He chuckles, tossing it over to the chair behind us.

I cross my arms over my chest when his eyes glance down and tread past him, wondering what the hell I'm doing here.

"Jesus, lighten up, darlin," Negan's by my side again, "I was just admiring the goods and let me just say you've got 'em."

"My tattoos don't bother you?" I ask crestfallenly.

"Why would they?" He smiles with slight bewilderment, snaking a hand across my lower back. _Damn it._

"None of the other girls have tattoos that are visible in their dresses." I really thought this would be an out for me.

"And what's your point?" He drifts his body to face mine.

"I just thought you had standards." I don't really react to his groping.

He stops and looks intently at me. "I do have standards," he clarifies, "standards which I'm sure you'll do your _very_ fuckin' best to abide by." I nod in understanding and anxiously drape an arm around his neck, wanting to get this over with. Negan brings his mouth down on mine, but briefly. "I like the eagerness, but let's not get too hasty." He removes my arm and steps back towards the sofa. I watch in agitation as he rips the foil off the champagne and pops the cork, letting the foam gush out onto the floor. He chuckles to me. "Plenty of that to come."

Negan pours the champagne into a flute and extends it to me. I begrudgingly walk over and take the glass, downing its contents. His smile spreads as he pats the spot next to him on the sofa, conveying for me to sit _. I'd rather die...well, maybe not._ I step around his boots and sit down next to him, leaving twelve inches of space between us. His hand grazes down my thigh, slowly and wantonly. I put the flute down on the table and unbuckle my wedges, before inching closer to try to straddle him. But he stops me before I can lift my leg over, so I'm just sitting on my knees, facing him like a fool. I furrow my brows in question.

"Shit, I knew you wanted me," His eyes trail down to my bosom, "and as much as I love seeing you gettin' all hot and bothered that I'm not fuckin' orgasms into you right now, like I promised earlier, I'm not ready yet." My eyes furrow even more and his smile grows into his eyes. "So, you're gonna have to be a little patient."

"I don't understand," I murmur as he takes a swig of his champagne, "I thought this is what you wanted." There's nothing more embarrassing than being told to cool it by a well-known horndog. I mean at least I think he's a horndog. Having six wives can't just be a power thing.

"What's the rush?" He raises his brows, pouring more champagne into the empty flute on the table. "I have every intention of giving you every inch of me, so simmer down. Have some more champagne, eat some strawberries. Bet you haven't had those in awhile, huh?"

"I'm not hungry and champagne makes my head ache." I sit down the proper way, becoming aware of his tricks. _He wants to get under your skin._

"Well, I'll get you an aspirin in the morning," Negan lets his hand caress my thigh again, "I got a bottle of it in my nightstand."

"Am I...am I staying the night?" I look at him in alarming surprise.

"Of course you are, we're on our honeymoon." He puts an arm around the back of the sofa, traipsing fingers along my shoulder.

"So, I can't go back to my room afterwards?"

Negan glances from my lap to my eyes. "You can, but I want you right back here first thing tomorrow, before I have to do shit, so what a fuckin' pain in the ass that'll be."

"So, then I'll stay." I conclude bleakly, taking the refilled glass.

"That's my girl," He lightly grips my arm, "I'm surprised you're such an eager beaver, considering." Negan tips the rest of the champagne down his throat, giving a face of distaste for it.

 _Don't let him bait you._ "Considering what?" I shoot back the champagne.

"You use to be with Dwighty boy," Negan touches my neck, "I know he said his penis was fine, but I imagine that was said out of embarrassment." I turn to glare at him and he smiles. "Could he get it up right away, or did it need some patience and encouragement?"

I stand up, putting the glass back down. "You're the one who wants patience." I go to fetch my robe, but like every other time I feel cocky, I'm humbled immediately. I fumble as I move past his feet and consequently slip on the wet floor, falling forward. I manage to catch myself on my hands and knees, but it hurts my shoulder and his laughter behind me is horrific.

"Oh-ho-ho, damn! You alright?" I feel his hand wrap around my arm to help me up.

Once I'm up, I shrug off his hand. Tears begin to rise up and I close my eyes with dismay as he turns me around. "I'm fine."

Negan's smile fades a bit as he discovers the tears and he rolls his eyes slightly, looking off to the side. "Shit, stop...don't cry," his change of tone surprises me, "I didn't mean to be an asshole, it's just really fuckin' funny when people fall." He says the last part with an uncontrollable chuckle.

"It's fine." I wipe the tears. It's better if he thinks it's about the fall.

"No use crying over spilt champagne." He adds, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I step away to get out of the puddle of champagne and humiliation.

"I need to use the bathroom." I mutter, grabbing the robe and hastily shrugging it on and striding barefoot out of the room. "Asshole." I whisper under my breath as I make it quickly to the bathroom.

I go to the sink and turn the faucet on. _Oh, god, what have I done? What am I doing?_ I cup my hands under the tap and bring my face down to wash off the makeup. _What possessed_ _you?_ I want to answer that for myself and my mother, whose voice I can hear asking me that in her way, but I still don't know why I've done this. Just yesterday, I thought I would never be here, and yet here I am and for what? I was a Savior; I didn't need Negan to save me from his own point system. This whole day feels like a nightmare that I can't wake up from. You know, those ones where you make all the wrong decisions that you would never actually make in real life. I wash my hands and then run a hand towel that was folded on the side under the water, before turning it off. I wash the sticky spirit from my knees, shins, and feet. _It's for the best._ How so?

I sigh despairingly with my hands on the sink, and then resolve to go back to Negan's room. The door's closed and so I knock, hoping he won't answer out of anger for me leaving.

"Come in." _Damn it._ I open the door and am shocked by his shirtlessness. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, kicking off his boots when he turns his tilted head in my direction.

"I'm back." I state the obvious like a dum-dum. _Get it together._

"I can see that," Negan smirks, "and I'm glad, 'cause I figured you were going AWOL."

"You would've come and gotten me." I close the door and put my hands behind my back as I lean against it.

"No, I wouldn't have," Negan's humored tone becomes more candid, "I don't chase pussy, sweetheart."

"Pussy chases you?" I rasp with arched brow. _How nice of you to refer to your wife as "pussy."_

"Smart girl." He chuckles with that smile. I roll my eyes, unimpressed. Yeah, _that's_ why you have so many wives.

"I guess it's a good thing you have Lucille." I blandly murmur. When I see it went over Negan's head, I clarify. "So you have something to beat them off with."

Negan doesn't smile at first, which I suspect is some type of intimidation tactic, because then he burst out in a hearty laugh. "Damn, that was fuckin' funny!" I grin impassively, a little sour at the realization that I'm speaking more earnestly with him than I'd care to. He makes it hard not to, because he purposely pushes buttons and I've gotten the sense that I'm allotted some room to be mouthy now that I'm married to him. "Alright, drop the robe and come here."

My breath catches at his order, but I force myself to breathe through my nose and untie the robe . I drop it and go over to him, watching his eyes as they sight see. When I'm close enough, suddenly shier than before, Negan reaches his hand over and taking my wrist, pulls me to stand right in front of him. He then stands up, towering over me, and puts both hands on me; letting them roam all over my body. I get more anxious as I feel a tug at my bra's hooks and then the loosening of the thing around my shoulders.

Negan draws the bra off me and throws it to the side with a smart alecky look on his face and taunting wag of his head. His hands then cup each breast and, I swear, it's like he's a teenager, weighing and squeezing them with dirty grin on his face. _Fucking child._ I almost pull away, but one of his hands drops around to my back, pressing me closer to him as he brings his mouth close to mine. I stand on my toes to meet him halfway, but he pulls back teasingly, again, and his breath juts against my face with soft laughter. He finally kisses me, deepening it fairly quickly and wrapping both arms around me. I instinctively put one hand on his bicep and the other on his virile chest when he shortens the space between us

Slowly, but surely, Negan's hands travel down to my butt, gripping each cheek fervently. "Jesus," He breaks the kiss, "What you lack in titties, you sure make up for with a sweet ass."

I blink, unamused with reddening cheeks as he shuts himself up by returning his mouth to mine. He turns us so that my back is facing the bed and not long after does he push me onto the bed, causing me to gasp at his forcefulness. I observe curiously as he undoes his bullet belt, tossing it and then the belt to his pants. He nods upwards at me. "Put yourself up more on the bed." I do so and my eyes gravitate to his hands that hike down his pants, exposing his erect arousal. Hm...

"Look who didn't need any patience." Negan smiles. He climbs on top of me like an animal and hungrily kisses me, moving my legs up. His hardness jabs at my entrance, enticing stirrings in my loins, which frustrates me, and so I claw my filed down nails into his arms. It doesn't bother him and soon enough he reaches down and positions himself, before sticking it into me with a voracious thrust. He stops kissing me and keeps himself up on his hands while he bucks roughly into me. I struggle to keep my eyes indifferently on his and have to try my hardest not to let my breathing hitch, or moan. Negan smiles, confidently, while continuing to pump in and out. I see his eyes glance down and watch what I can only imagine are my bouncing breasts with each thrust.

At last, it's not me that cracks and groans first, but him, which gives me some sense of pride in all this. I shut my eyes when I start to feel something that may be an orgasm building. One of the times that Dwight and I were together right after Sherry's death keeps pushing itself to mind. Right before he loses his erection and curses "fuck!" under his breath, before angrily getting off me. How part of me was glad he left and the other part kind of wished he hadn't when I put my hand between my legs. My brain never knows when to shut off any unwanted, or damaging thoughts. Or doesn't care to, as if it's punishing me. When I open my eyes at Negan's husky moan, I'm disappointed at it being his voice and his face I see. _Dwight doesn't want to be with you._

 _"I can't do this, again, Nan."_

I close my eyes again and let my body go. Not long after, the wave crashes over me and I arch my back, involuntarily touching bellies with Negan. Negan breathily chuckles between a moan, as if he's gained something by me coming. _Get there already and shut the fuck up._ I smile slightly, reminded of when Yancy had yelled that the couple while Dwight and I sat eating granola bars in my room.

"Ooh, fuck!" He finally grunts under his breath, sliding out of me and emptying on my stomach. I breathe a little less shallowly than him by this time, so I gaze at him inquisitively as he pants and radiates heat between us. Negan laughs choppily before pushing himself backwards off of me and over to his drawers.

"Don't move." He points when I start to sit up. He returns with a towel that he tosses on me and, so I put my hand on it to clean myself off. "I don't want it to get on the comforter." Negan explains callously, making my cheeks burns even more. _Asshole!_ I sit up and push myself to the ledge, handing him the towel when he wants it. I rub my brow and then walk over to the side of the bed farthest from the door. "What, pray tell, are you doing, Nan?"

"You wanted me to stay the night," I answer dryly as I peel back the layers of bedding, "so, that's what I'm doing."

"You thought I meant for you to sleep in bed with me?" He muses, making my eyes sharply flicker to his.

I eye the sofa behind his nakedness. "You-you expect me to sleep on the sofa?"

"That is abso-fuckin-lutely correct," He smiles, but his tone has no guile, "I'm the only one who sleeps there, sweetheart, that's why you have your own bed in your own room." I stare at him, then back at the sofa, and then at him again. _You have to be fucking kidding me._ When degraded tears begin to form, I wiggle my nose and then march myself over towards the door where my robe is. Just as I'm about to pass him, Negan catches me by my middle and in one swoop, brings me up into his arms like a bride on her honeymoon. "Calm your tits, Jesus!" He laughs. "I was kidding!"

He then takes me back over to the bed and drops me down on the soft bedding. "I'm not that big of an asshole," his upper half hovers over me, "And I am far from being done with you, wife." That last word crushes me.

 **...**

We have sex a total of three times before Negan tires himself out. By his third spill, he gets up from the bed and leaves the room, probably to the bathroom. I roll over under the comforter onto my side, so that I'm facing the wall. Negan comes back after a few minutes and when he does, I close my eyes and pretend like I'm asleep. I feel a dip and soon am aware of him being in the bed. The blanket is pulled up from my waist to my shoulder, surprisingly. He settles himself down into bed and I listen. Negan's breathing doesn't shallow right away. It's tempting to look over my shoulder to see if he's just laying on his back awake, but I'm too tired for what that may lead to. After about ten minutes or so, Negan sighs with what may be frustration and within another ten minutes, he's asleep. That's when I open my eyes and continue to let my mind run haywire as I calmly stare at the dark colored wall and listen to the ticking clock and his breathing. Trying to come to terms with what I've done.

 **...**

 _"Well, I know you aren't going to like hearing this, but I don't blame him in the least." My mom sets a mug of tea down on the table in front of me, even though I asked for coffee, before going back over to the stove._

 _"I know." I barely murmur._

 _"I mean, what possessed you, Anna?" Her tone is angrier. "I don't know how a smart girl like you can't seem to grasp the basic concept of fidelity. It's really not that difficult to not cheat on someone."_

 _"Thanks, Mom." I roll my eyes._

 _"I mean, when someone wants to have sex with you and you're in a relationship, you say 'no.' Simple as that."_

 _"I didn't come here for a lecture on something I already know, okay?"_

 _"A lecture?" She laughs sardonically, putting a BLT on a plate in front of me. "Well, you know what? When you come knocking on my door at one in the morning, needing a place to sleep because you had a fight with Charlie over something that you claim to already know not to do, yet still did it; you don't get to cop attitude, Anna."_

 _"I know I made a mistake, alright? I'm sorry for coming so late. But, I can figure my own problems out with Charlie."_

 _"If he takes you back, which to be honest with you, I wouldn't if I were him." She pushes the plate an inch closer to me._

 _"You know, I know I'm not your golden girl anymore, but for once can you just take my side?" I shove the plate aside._

 _"Oh, don't bring out the 'poor me, poor me' theatrics, Anna Louise! Why would I console you for cheating on your boyfriend! The first one I actually like since that one. Denny, I think."_

 _"Oh, god, Denny?" I scoff. "He was so critical of me all the time!"_

 _"Oh, he was not!"_

 _"Yes, mother, he was! All he ever did was point out what he didn't like about me and then acted like I was freaking out for no reason, when I would tell him to leave me alone! Oh, now I see why you liked him; you have something in common."_

 _"If you wanted to be coddled for your poor decisions and behavior, you should have gone to your grandparent's house." My mother retorts plainly._

 _"I'm not asking you to coddle me. Fuck!" My mom gives me a warning brow at my language. Even at twenty-four, I can't get away with it. "I'm not asking to be told I'm right or be given a high- five for what I did, but sometimes I just want you to...never mind."_

 _"Nan, you're an adult who knows right from wrong and I may be your mother, but I am not going to treat you like a child who cheated at hide and seek."_

 _"I know that! I just want to be able to tell you things and not have to worry about getting criticized every single time."_

 _"Well now's not a time to be uncritical," She huffs and I know she's right, "I just don't understand what sort of spell that girl has over you. She was never good to you, cheated on you and wasn't even sorry for it."_

 _"I don't want to talk about Sylvie." I take a bitter sip from my mug._

 _"And yet every time she gives you the slightest morsel of attention, you're like dog with bone."_

 _"Can we not?"_

 _"When you told me that she moved here from Spain, I knew it wasn't going to be a good thing for you." My mom proceeds._

 _"Sylvie isn't what's wrong with me." I state._

 _"I'm glad you're taking some accountability, but I think you need to tell her to stop talking to you altogether."_

 _"We work together, so that'll be kind of hard." I chuckle acridly._

 _"Yeah, well, maybe she can find some other place of work besides the shop." She suggests, dryly._

 _"I'm not gonna ask her to leave the bakery," I raise a brow, "That's ridiculous. She has to have someplace to work."_

 _"There are dozens of bakeries in the city. And besides, she knows what she's doing. I knew she was a manipulative, mean girl the moment I met her."_

 _"Like I said, she's not what's wrong with me."_

 _"No, but she definitely encourages it." My mom stirs a spoon in her mug, thoughtfully. "Your problem is that you never once can save yourself from all the strife and heartache, because you have some complex about wanting to be wanted."_

 _"Okay, well, I don't think diagnosing your own daughter, like you did in high school, is ethical or whatever."_

 _"I didn't diagnose you with anxiety in high school," She takes her glasses off, "I just recognized the symptoms and took you to talk a colleague."_

 _"Well, a lot of good that did." I scoff bitterly._

 _"I really think it'd be in your best interest to change your number and stop talking to Sylvie as much as possible. Maybe she can take an earlier shift, so she'll get off earlier and then you won't really have to see her."_

 _"Yeah, maybe." I agree to myself._

 _"Because he loves you, Anna," She takes my hand, but I'm a little too upset to take it as a tender moment, "Otherwise he wouldn't keep taking you back, hoping you'll finally learn to spare the both of you all the grief. Who knows, he might want to marry you, but hasn't asked since you keep giving him reasons not to."_

 _"Oh, god you're right," I gasp sarcastically, "Do you think if I straighten up, he won't leave me to become a burdensome spinster for you and father?"_

 _"That's right, Nan. Make a joke of things."_

 _I lick my lips, frustratingly. "We've never even talked about that sort of thing, so don't start picking out wedding invitations."_

 _"Well, maybe he wants to, but doesn't want to build a life with someone who always wanders off to make the same 'mistakes' over and over again."_

 _"Thanks for the-" The phone rings and we both look over at it on the counter, before my mom goes over to answer it._

 _"Hello?" She says into the phone. "Oh, hi, sweetheart, how are you?" The look she gives me lets me know that it's him. "Yeah, she's here... she's fine. A little puffy eyed, but fine."_

 _"Mom!" I whisper sharply._

 _She puts her hand on her hip and nods. "Oh, you know, Anna. Her phone is probably on silent," she points to my purse that's over in the living room and I go to get it, "do you want me to get her for you?" I come back into the kitchen with my phone that has three missed calls and two text messages, asking me to answer my phone. "Alright, here she is." She mouths 'he's hung over' while handing me the phone._

 _"Hello?" I put the phone up to my ear, turning my back on my mother._

 _"Hey, I tried to call you," He hoarsely rasps, "I called your grandparents, but Felix said you weren't there, so I hoped you were at your parents'." Hoped. He was hoping I didn't run to Sylvie._

 _"Yeah, sorry, I left my phone in my purse and haven't touched it since last night." I respond._

 _"...You sleep alright?" He asks after a minute. I can tell he's a little hung over._

 _"Um, I took an Ambien, so yeah." I smile as I hear him snicker at that. "Did you sleep okay?"_

 _"I had some bourbon, so yeah." I can hear the smile in his voice. "Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to meet me someplace, so we could talk."_

 _"I'll just come home." I suggest, ignoring my mom's look._

 _"No, Nan, we need to talk things out," Charlie protests, "We both know that if you come home, you won't want to talk and sex isn't going to cut it."_

 _I nod. "Okay, well, how about we meet at that one coffee shop...you know the one where that guy passed out when I got that nose bleed in line?"_

 _Charlie laughs sleepily. "Yeah, uh, sure. An hour?"_

 _"Okay...I love you." I say, nervous he won't say it back._

 _"I love you, too, baby," He says back, "Alright, I'll see you then."_

 _"Okay, bye." I hang up the phone and meet my mother's eyes. "I gotta go shower. I'm meeting him in a hour."_

 _"Nan," She steps towards me, "I love you and I love Charlie. He's good to you and good for you."_

 _"Okay, thanks." I clear my throat, not really phased by my mom's kindness anymore, since I always expect it to change in a moment's notice. She walks over to me and hugs me, which I try to return._

 _"Please, if he's willing to give you another chance, please don't screw things up this time," There it is, "Save yourself and him the hurt."_

 **...**

I wake up dazed and my head beats like a drum. It doesn't take me long to be reminded of where I'm at and why I'm here. I listen for the sound of Negan's breathing, but hear nothing. I roll over onto my back and that's when I see him over by the coffee table, drinking what smells like coffee in one of the chairs.

The champagne and strawberries from last night are gone and replaced with breakfast. Coffee, sugar, and two plates that are covered, but the aroma of bacon and eggs still fills the room. It smells both incredible and sickening, but I quickly realize something that mortifies warmth into my cheeks. You can't convince me that a high and mighty Negan went down to the kitchens and got this himself. He had someone bring it, which means that they may have seen me.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Negan smiles when he looks over at the bed, seeing me awake, "I must've really wore you out last night, 'cause I thought you might be comatose for a minute there." He chuckles darkly.

I glance over at the clock. "It's only six." I rasp meekly.

"Yes, and I've been up for a full hour, waiting for you to wake up." He smirks, motioning for me to come over. I sit up, cladding myself with the covers, and looking for the lingerie and robe. "No use being shy, I've already seen everything."

I grimace at his truthful words and get out of the bed, walking over towards the door to get my robe. As I grab it up, Negan whistles that awful tune which makes me turn to him. He smirks and shakes his head, before curling a finger for me to come over. I already have the robe in hand, but I pad over to him without pulling it over me. He pats his leg, but after discovering that to be the reason why he didn't want me put the robe on; I put the robe on. "Prude." He laughs, taking my arm before I can sit in the other chair, and pulling me onto his lap anyway.

I look away from him and put an arm out against his chest in protest. I look down at the trays on the table with a small rumble in my stomach. "Who brought this up?"

"Three workers, " Negan puts a hand in my robe, touching a breast, "I figured we could refuel and then get back at it before I have to go."

"Go where?" I ask, taking his hand away and not really sad to hear he might be leaving.

"Aw, don't worry," He kisses my neck, while a hand roams up my thigh, "I'm not leaving Sanctuary. I just have to make sure a few things I need done are done." _Too bad._

 **...**

I walk quietly into my bedroom since I see that Amber's still asleep in her bed and am immediately confronted by the reflection across the room. I go over to meet the girl with disheveled hair and shoes in her hand, but not cautiously, as if I'm unsure of who she is. To say that I don't recognize myself in the mirror would be a bold lie. That girl is me and has always been me. The girl who never fails to slip in my vices until I fall. Who never has the strength so desired by myself and those who care about me to change and be better. And who can never seem to catch myself, even if it's on my hands and knees like I had last night.

I sigh at the girl, forgivingly, because no one else will. "It's for the best," I tell the mirror with welling tears, " save yourself and him the hurt."

* * *

 **I know this is a despairing turning point for Dwight and Nan's story, but it is something that I have had planned from the very start of writing "Save Yourself". Sherry running off in the show will actually work really well for this story, since Nan's unholy union to Negan may be a new catalyst for what's to come. Plus, I felt like Dwight and Nan's routine argument and make up was getting a little tedious.**

 **Jofrench22: When I read your last review, I felt so bad, because I knew I (or Nan) would have to disappoint you!**

 **And Guest: Thank you for calling my story "the bomb" lol and all I can say to you and every other reader about D/N is to hang in there!**

 **Nan is frustrating( I know; I created her and sometimes even I get mad at her. lol) but she is as imperfect as any other and has a cabinet of issues to work through. Being said, this poor choice she's made may ultimately be a good thing for her development and for her future. And I'd like it to be put on the record that the Negan/Nan scenes were so cringe worthy for me to write! I did not like it one bit. All that aside, I will be introducing Harlan into the story early (spoiler alert?), and so Sasha and Rosita are not going to be coming for a while.**


	23. Deserved Fate

_"Shit," He pants as he puts himself back into his boxers and sits up, "I didn't mean for that to happen."_

 _"For what to happen?" I pull my underwear up, still reclined on the seats of his truck._

 _"This," He motions a finger between the two of us, " I don't want you to think I asked you out with this mind." He fixes his pants with a semi-frustrated sigh._

 _"I don't think that," I button my jeans, "Plus, I'm the one who initiated it. So, if it says anything; it's that I'm a slut who gives the green light on the first date."_

 _"I don't think you're a slut." He smiles with a slight chuckle. We both sit there with the fogged up windows for a few seconds, even though I should probably get out now and go inside. "You said first date," He looks at me, "Like there could be another?"_

 _I give him the up and down, visually interrogating his motives. "You'd want to see me again?"_

 _He brushes a hand through his hair. "Yeah, why not? I had fun with you tonight. Before this." We both shyly laugh, but my eyes stay focused on his face. "Would you want to go out with me again?"_

 _"...Yes." I answer honestly._

 _"Cool."_

 _"Well, I guess I better go," I demurely say with flushed cheeks, "I'm covering my cousin's opening shift, so I gotta be up early."_

 _"Yeah, yeah, I, uh...got an entire townhouse to scrape wallpaper off of and paint," He glances over at me, "Can I...kiss you goodnight?"_

 _"After what we just did," I brazenly smile and he chuckles under his breath, "Kissing me goodnight wouldn't be too bold."_

 _He leans over at I meet him halfway, but he kisses my cheek instead of my lips. "Goodnight, Nan."_

 _"Goodnight, Charlie."_

 _"I'll come around and open the door for you." He opens his door and gets out._

 _"Who said nobody helps you once you're fucked?" I murmur to myself, rubbing my brow at this genuinely nice guy who has to be unreal. Wanting to go on a second date with a girl who wore jeans and a Queen t-shirt on the first date. Although, I guess he didn't dress up himself and we did just go for fish and chips and then walked in the park._ _I look out the window, but don't see him anywhere, which makes me turn my head towards my door. I rub off the little bit of fog left on my window and the door abruptly opens. Charlie stands, gaunt and rotting, in my doorway. I notice the arm used to open the door is gone and so he reaches for me with the other. "No!"_

 _"Nan."_

My shoulder flinches and I wake up facing a sleeping Negan. I must have rolled over in my sleep. His brows are gathered, but he seems placid and not menacing as he sleeps. A total one-eighty from when he's awake. I move gingerly to get out of bed, not wanting to wake him. For my sake, not his. As quietly as possible, I creep across the room, watching him every step of the way to make sure everything I'm doing isn't being detected.

The door's going to be the tricky part. Whenever the door opens it for some reason makes a small rumble sound and the hinges creak a bit. And it can never really close without the same noise when it meets the other door. I'm not sure if I should just smoothly open it and leave like the quicker the better, or if I should go as slow as can be. I breathe as I turn the handle, looking over towards the bed. The clock that ticks loudly in the room increases the intensity in the process.

I manage to slip out and just as I'm about to close the door with me on the other side, the radio in his room statics out a voice. I shriek inwardly and abandon closing it all the way, treading in a state of tender-footed panic to the room I share with Amber. The clock on the wall reads four-twenty. Perfect, I can go back to sleep for a while.

 **...**

"Nan," I'm woken up to the feeling of a hand nudging my arm, "Nan, breakfast is here."

"I'm not hungry." I croak, scooting closer to the wall so Amber will stop shaking me.

"Negan told me to come and get you." She informs with the lightly annoyed tone that the other wives take when discussing all matters Negan.

"Okay," I grumble, sitting up," I'll be there in a minute."

Amber leaves and I push myself out of bed. I wince at the mess I see groggily looking back at me in the mirror. My head feels like it weighs a ton and from the looks of my reflection, it shows on my face, too. I don't even know why; I didn't drink last night except for about six ounces of red wine at dinner. I don't like drinking with Negan. The alcohol is more of a night cap than a tension tamer and neither of us have gotten drunk, but with all that goes on in the bedroom, drinking in the mix makes for a hard next day that will only get harder when he's got a daytime itch. My eyes scour the rack for a dress to throw on so I can go to sit in the dining room with Negan and my fellow wives. All these dresses require some assistance with the zipper, so I ultimately resolve to just slipping on my robe. Its just breakfast.

Once I enter the dining room, all eyes are on me. Danica and Frankie softly greet me with causal 'good mornings' and the others return to their breakfast. The only available seat is, unfortunately, to the left of Negan who's smiling into his coffee.

"Good morning, sunshine." He greets, taking in my mussed appearance. As if he's proud of himself.

"Good morning." I rasp quietly. Tonya pours some milk into a glass and hands it to me politely. "Thank you." I grin faintly at her, trying to ignore Negan.

"Where'd you go last night?" Negan smiles as I sip some of the milk. "I woke up this morning in a cold bed."

"I went to the bathroom early this morning," I lie, eyeing the food on the table, "I decided not to come back. I didn't want to wake you."

Negan takes my hand in an unserious romantic way and kisses it. "I'm impressed that you were able to walk after the fun we had last night. You practically passed out after the fourth orgasm." Footnote: Negan's ego is mistaken. I didn't have four orgasms.

I take my hand from his and my cheeks begin to redden as I fix my plate. The smell of eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast with butter and preserves, fresh fruit, milk, coffee, and sugar over powers me. I'm hungrier than I thought I would be since most mornings, these past two weeks of wifehood have had me on the verge of throwing up. That's part of the reason why I've stopped drinking when Negan calls me into his room, which has been nearly every night since I tethered myself to him. I thought after the first week, our "honey moon", my newness would've worn off for him. He isn't affectionate, as if I ever expected that of him, so I assumed that he would get bored soon enough.

I eat the first hardy meal in a long time. Everything tastes so good, better than any orgasm Negan could cause, and I'd love to hate myself for eating food I know was taken from other communities while others have to toil for their next meal; but I'm too hungry at the moment. The bread and eggs are probably the only things that are our own. I suppose the butter and preserves could've been made here, but the milk and fruit to make them came from somewhere else. After twenty- five minutes, I put down my fork and feel Negan's eye burning into me. I look at him inquisitively, asking with my gaze what he wants.

"Did you taste any of it?" He smiles, raising his brows at my cleaned plate. I wipe my mouth with a cloth napkin and scoot my chair out to leave. As I do so, Negan gently snatches my arm, pulling me back a bit. "Where ya runnin' off to, lumber jack?"

"To take a shower." I look him over, uneasily. Negan grins and loosens his grip, which I slide out of and exit.

I undress by the bathtub, laying my robe and under garments on the side. I don't know whose hairbrush is on the counter of the sink, but I use it to brush out my rat's nest before getting into the shower. The mirror along with the morning light coming in from the window, point out the three hickeys in different healing phases that I sustained from fulfilling my wifely duties. Every time Negan has called for me, I've complied to be his in anyway he wanted me. It isn't out of desire or fear of getting on his bad side, since I know he won't force me. It's more of a lying in the bed I've made sort of thing. I chose this and I have keep reminding myself that it's for the best; and what better way than to slide back to my old familiars. It's all meaningless for me.

When the water shuts off after my allotted time, I step out onto the shower mat and towel off. Hazel knocks and then enters the bathroom, probably after hearing the water stop. I meekly smile at her and she returns the politeness. I dress a little more quickly and leave so she can have some privacy, although I found out that the wives aren't really shy around each other.

Amber's in our shared room when I go in, sulking on her bed, cross-legged. I pull a dress indiscriminately off the rack and slip it on.

"Can you zip the back up, please?" I ask her. I've pretty much been my same old silent type self with the wives despite them all being very nice, but Amber seems to take it personally. She's not ever snippy with me, just timidly standoffish, as if she can't figure out why I don't like her, even though I don't have any feelings about her one way or the other. "Thanks."

"No problem." Her already anemic voice sounds more sheepish than usual. _Don't ask._ "Do you need help with the mascara? The brush can be tricky with your own hand."

"I'm not gonna use that," I state a little more bluntly than planned, "I didn't really wear makeup before then world collapsed and it's one thing I've never missed."

"Why not?" She asks, going back over to her bed.

"There are better things to miss than makeup." I detangle my hair with my comb.

" I meant why did you never wear makeup before?"

"I didn't say never. I said I 'didn't really'." _God, stop being such a bitch._

"How come?" Amber asks.

"I worked at a bakery," I explain, "With all the flour, frosting, and powdered sugar, it seemed a waste of time."

Amber nods softly. "Did you have a boyfriend, or husband?"

"Yes." I tersely answer.

"Well, didn't he like it when you wore makeup?"

"He didn't really care," I wiggle my nose, "He was _funny_ that way." I'm not really good at non- stinging sarcasm, which makes me roll my eyes at myself when she's quiet for a few minutes.

"Can I ask you something?"

"If it's anything more about my life before, no." I make clear.

"It's not, I swear." She assures.

"What?"

"Were you... with Sherry's ex-husband before you married Negan?" Amber has big, innocent eyes.

"I have to pee." I fasten my wedges on and leave. Maybe that was rude, but I don't care. Amber's question was also rude. _She didn't mean it like that._

 **...**

As anyone can imagine, the life of a Negan wife isn't very stimulating. With little to no responsibilities to complete during the day, all that's left to do is find a hobby and master it with nothing besides Negan to keep you from doing so. There's a library at the Sanctuary that I had never really been to since most of my time here was spent baking bread all fucking day and being too tired to have any free time to spend on anything but sleep. And when I was a Savior, my spare time was spent trailing after Dwight like a puppy.

Now that I have nothing but time, I slither down to the library like I'm on the lamb almost every two days for a new book. I've read eight books in a two-week period, which is a weirdly huge accomplishment for me. Former literature major or not, I always got distracted when reading and probably read a book a month, maybe. I keep a list of all the books I've read thus far and plan on putting a check by each title every time it's reread. _So much fun._

The library is a room about the same size of the laundry room on the third floor. Its walls have gray metal shelves that they probably nicked from an actual library, which is probably where most of the books came from, too.

"Good afternoon." The librarian greets distantly but respectfully, not really looking up from her work of keeping the stacks on the floor neat.

"Hi." I barely greet back, putting the paper back of Madame Bovary on the cart. I scan the rows of books for something interesting.

"You'll give that one girl a run for her money." The middle-aged librarian mumbles, almost to herself.

"Solara?"

"Yeah, that's the one," She prattles, "Always coming in and out like a bird through a window...or an adulterer through a window. If the husband's gone and...I told her not to. But she's always been careless. Now look."

I arch a brow at her bizarre words. I think her name is Lillian and she's about how old my mother would be with frizzy, wavy blonde hair. She kind of reminds me of one of those pigeon ladies that sit on park benches all day, feeding the birds while murmuring to herself. Maybe she was given this job because it's the least tedious and she's a little off kilter, but still has to earn points. Also, I think she might be ill in more than one way since she's always coughing.

I select a Mary Oliver poetry book, along with Vanity Fair. I saw the movie once and figured it'd be an interesting read. I exit without saying goodbye and head for the top again. I happen to look to my right as I leave the library and I'm stung by doing so. I see Dwight walking down that way.

"Dwight." I say under my breath, barely audible. However, it's evidently loud enough that he turns around and our eyes meet. His face doesn't reflect any malice, or really anything at all except, perhaps, a willingness to hear me out since he's still standing here. I open my mouth to speak, but instead I turn around and walk quickly to the stair well with my books clutched to my chest. _Coward._

When I get to the top, I go straight to my room and try to control the anxiety attack that threatens the horizon. I take the postcard he gave me from off the wall where I taped it and stick it back into my trunk. There, I see a shirt, his shirt, which I had borrowed and apparently didn't return. _Get it together._ I push the trunk under my bed and leave the room to throw up in the bathroom. _It's for the best._

"You okay?" Tonya asks while she's in the shower.

"I'm fine. Sorry." I go to the sink and wash out my mouth before getting my toothbrush ready. So long breakfast, I hardly knew you.

 **...**

Around five-fifty, the aroma of dinner heralds some workers bringing up dinner. They make scant eye contact with me as they pass my bedroom door. I listen for Negan's obnoxious comments, but hear none. Come to think if it, I haven't seen or heard him all day since breakfast, not that I'm complaining. Once I see the workers leave, I get up and go to the dining room where the other wives already are taking their seats. I'm starting to think that the low women on the totem pole have to sit next to Negan, because the only chair for me is conveniently always next to Negan's spot at the head. Amber sits across from me and from what I can piece together, she was the last woman to marry him before me. Sherry was right before her.

The food looks and smells amazing. It's some type of fish, trout I think, with brightly colored vegetables and freshly sliced bread with butter. I sit down in my chair and fix a plate, pretty hopeful that Negan isn't dining with us. _Oh, sweet glory, this fish is good._

"It's getting hot," Frankie huffs, "it feels like summer's coming early."

"Let's hope not," Hazel responds while pouring some wine, " I hate all the mosquitoes that somehow manage to make it in during the summer."

"Oh god, I know and remember when we had to open all the windows and that blackbird flew in!" All the women laugh meekly at that memory which I wasn't obviously apart of.

"That was sad," Amber murmurs into her wine glass, "it knocked into the bar and broke it's wing and Negan put it outside."

"Amber," Danica scoffs, "Negan took it to the roof. It's not like he dropped it out the window to its death." I look up in some sort of amazement at her gentle defense of him. It is surprising, however, to hear that Negan would pick up an injured bird and take it up to the roof that is one set of stairs up. _He'd spare a bird but not a human being?_

"That's because I cried, and he yelled at me to stop, and Sherry asked him not to put it out of it's misery in the drawing room," Amber downs her wine and reaches for the bottle, "Then she acted like she wasn't turned on by his 'heroism'. He probably killed it up there."

"I told you he didn't, remember?" Tonya says soothingly, taking the bottle and putting it on the side furthest from Amber. "I went up there, thinking the same thing and I never saw a dead bird."

"He probably hid it." Amber huffs. At that nonsensical comment, the rest of them laugh and I fight back a snicker and grin.

"Right," Frankie rolls her eyes, "He went out of his way to cover up the crime scene."

As much I dislike Negan, I have to admit that Amber appears to be unreasonable over a bird with a broken wing. And I agree with Frankie. Negan has no problem leaving a trail of human bodies in his wake, so why would he hide the fact that he killed a bird if he had decided to kill it?

Footsteps from down the hall must mean either Negan's ears were burning, or we accidentally summoned the him by speaking of him. Negan enters the room, removing his leather jacket.

"Ladies," He charms, "what a fucking bitch of a day, I tell ya." He sits and like all the other meals, the wives are expected to put food on his plate. None of us ask how his day went, or why he vaguely described it as such. After food is on his plate, the conversation pretty much dies down. "Anything interesting happen today in the roost?"

"No." Tonya answers.

"Nothing?" Negan chews his food. "No conjuring of dark spirits, or stitch n' bitch circle?" _No need to conjure dark spirits with you around, dear._

"Nope." Hazel shakes her head while looking down at here food.

"What about you?" Negan sets his phasers on me. "Do anything fun today, Nan?"

"I went to the library." I respond matter of factly.

"Wow, how exciting and not boring as shit." He chuckles _. I wasn't implying it was exciting, you asshole_. "Ever doing anything other than read?"

"Does it matter?" I take a sip of my water. What does he care what I do when he's not here?

HE gives me a look and he smiles. "I asked, didn't I?"

"No, then. I don't." I reply, finishing my meal and standing up to exit.

"Mm, Nan," Negan swallows a bite of fish, "I'd like for you to find your way to my room in half an hour."

I enter his bedroom later on that night, already exhausted by what's to come. Negan's on the sofa with his foot resting on his knee as he reads over the books. He glances up at me, takes me in, and then looks back at the books.

"Sit down." I go over to the chair across from him, but as soon as I sit down, his eyes trail up and he looks over at the spot next to him on the sofa, then back at me with a terrible smile. I huff quietly and then get up to sit beside him. I watch as he signs his name every couple lines. His handwriting looks fast- paced and just legible enough to read. It reminds me of when teachers use to write detention slips when I'd be late for class.

"How much more?" I ask out of nowhere. I'm not really eager for him to finish, but it's boring to sit here with him and the clock I'm starting think has it out for my wits.

"I like your spirit," He chuckles, "Not much longer, so sit tight and wet, darlin'."

Half an hour later, he puts the book down on the table and turns his attention to me. Negan leans towards me, having me push myself back on the sofa some more and lie down. My breath sharpens as he hikes up my dress, but I don't know from where the desire stems. He peppers my skin, from my thighs to my breasts with lusting kisses. "You smell good," He exhales while reaching down to undo his belt, "and your skin is so fucking warm."

After pulling up my other leg on to the sofa, Negan takes one of my hands and has me stroke him until he's up, where then he eases his arousal in me with a guttural moan from the back of his throat. I feel his feverish breath blaze again my neck as he thrusts into me with less voracity than usual. Probably due to the awkward positioning on the sofa. After three minutes or so, he sits up and holds out a hand for mine. I take it and resign to get on his lap.

"Fucking hell." Negan lets out an elongated chuckling breath as I lower myself onto him. I avoid eye contact with him as his hands press into my lower back to encourage me. My mind, unwarranted, drifts off to when Dwight beat me in chess. How candid he was, not as removed from emotion as he usually had been before. I wanted him then. His unguarded disposition had ignited a sensation in me and I just wanted him. Maybe I'm the horndog. It felt good then, maybe even powerful, too. I've always felt some sense of fortitude being on top, I don't know, maybe I'm sick in the head like my mother thought.

 _"I didn't say you were sick! I think you have unhealthy coping mechanisms and manic compulsions."_

 _"Should I make the payment out to you directly, or your office?"_

 _"Well, then I guess you're a whore, plain and simple. Is that what you want me to say?"_

Charlie didn't think I was a whore, despite everything. At least he never called me one, or any mean names for that matter. _Dwight didn't think that either._ Yeah. Even after I traded my underwear, which was so suspect. I exasperatingly mewl when I feel myself peak and my lower half shutters around Negan's. Negan groans as well, gripping my hips a little more tightly.

"Keep going." He gruffs, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. I continue to rock back and forth on him, waiting for him to come. I study his features and listen to his rising action before the climax. He eventually pushes me to get off of him. He unintentionally finishes on my dress. "That's a shame," He breathes out a snicker," I guess you'll have take it off and put it in the wash."

I reach awkwardly behind my back to try and unzip the dress. The idea of workers having to scrub their leader's seed off my dress, among other things, makes me cringe. I turn around and look over my shoulder at him to pull the zipper down the rest of the way. "Thank you." I murmur as I slide the dress down.

"Always a pleasure." He smiles behind me.

 **...**

 _What the hell?_ I didn't even drink last night and I still feel sick when I wake up this morning. _Maybe it's the bed you're lying in._ Not the actual guilt of the queen size bed, since it's the most comfortable thing I've slept on in years and the bedding is ridiculously plush. Rather, it's probably whom I'm sharing the bed with. I roll over onto my back and about that time, the radio over on the coffee table statics out a voice that sounds like Arat's. Negan inhales sharply and opens his eyes, rubbing them before looking over my way.

"Someone's on the walkie." I tell him. Negan looks over at the clock and sighs heavily.

"What do they want?" He asks.

"I don't know, I didn't hear what they were saying."

"Go get it and bring it over." Negan orders without so much as a please. And yet, I still get out of bed, walk naked over to the table, and retrieve the radio for him; all while his eyes observe me like a map. Negan scoots over for me to get back onto the bed. He then puts the radio up to his mouth. "Say that last thing again," He orders; "What's the fucking issue now?"

"No issues, sir," Arat speaks, "Simon radioed a few minutes ago. I asked him to repeat what he said, since it cut out." _Oh, god, please tell me he's not coming back so soon._

Negan's eyes are down at my tits, which he constantly teases for hardly being b cups. "Simon," Negan calls out into the radio, "What's your location and status?" I pull the blanket up to cover myself from the cold and the peeping Tom.

After a minute or so, Simon comes through. "Say again. We just drove past an area that caused some interference."

"Location and status." Negan repeats, reaching over for my arm and suggesting me forward until I'm practically lying against him. His hand then runs through my hair.

"We're coming up on Hilltop," Simon reports, "Thought we'd get in and out early and bring our new doctor home by lunchtime."

"Good man." Negan replies and then puts the radio down on his nightstand.

"We're getting a new doctor?" I ask as Negan twirls his finger, almost mockingly, though my hair.

"We most certainly are." He answers.

"What about Eugene? I thought he was our new doctor." I lift my head to look up at him, wanting to move from this uncomfortable position.

"Dr. Smarty Pants is more useful in other areas." Negan's hand creeps down my backside, under the blankets, and rests on my ass. That's kind of a relief. That day in the infirmary when Eugene's confidence faltered at the sight of Dwight's need for medical assistance, I had a feeling he might not be what he said he was. I could be wrong, of course, but I've never met a doctor who winced at the sight of blood. I start to shift out of Negan's clutches, but he puts his other arm around me and flips us over so that he's on top of me.

 **...**

"Hey," Danica knocks on my door frame, "Whatcha doin'?"

I hold up Vanity Fair. "Reading."

"Hazel, Tonya, and I are going to check out the new dead on the fences. Do you wanna come?"

"New dead?" I nervously furrow my brows.

"Well, not new. Improved." She specifies.

"What's improved about them?"

"That Eugene guy had the workers put some metal shit over them and I guess they look pretty bad ass," She rolls her eyes a bit, "According to-"

"Negan." I finish her sentence, since that seems like something he'd say.

"Yeah. So, you want to come?"

I bite the inside of cheek. "Nah, I'm cool. Thanks, though." Seeing Dwight yesterday helps me make that decision.

"Alright," Danica nods, "how about I give you a hair cut later on?" I glance down at my hair that's grown past my breasts. "I don't mean to be rude, or anything, but girl, those split ends are a nightmare."

"Oh, well, I guess...if you know what you're doing..."

"Hell yeah, I do," She chuckles confidently, "I use to cut hair."

"Sounds like a plan then." I state dryly.

"Okay, see ya." Danica leaves.

"Have fun." I need to work on my conversation. Have fun? _They're going down to look at rotters, not going to the spa._

Twenty minutes later, I put the book down and leave my room. Frankie's in with Negan, I can hear his groaning. Apparently, she use to be a masseuse, which is just totally convenient for that insatiable prick that we're married to. I'm not sure if the massage will become something else, but frankly I don't give a damn either way. It'll be nice to have someone else tag in.

I go into the drawing room and find it empty which makes me wonder where Amber is, but if I'm being entirely honest, I don't really care. I walk over to the bar and take a glass off the over hanger. I survey the crystal decanters of alcohol and the pitcher of lemonade that was evidently brought up at some point between breakfast and now. I decide to drink the lemonade, which I found out, is powered mix similar to the one Olivia made when we wreaked havoc in Alexandria. I turn around and lean an elbow against the bar counter, staring at the little treasure in the corner of the room.

A black piano sits up against the wall, two feet away from one of the doors. I spied it the first day I was brought in here, but made no outward acknowledgements of it. Call it shameless bragging, but I'm actually really good, if not great, at the piano. I started taking lessons when I was five and thoroughly enjoyed it. I never played in any concerts, even at my piano teacher's request, though because of shyness.

I cautiously approach the piano as if it'll bite. I haven't played in years, since the world went to hell, due to lack of opportunity. I wring out my fingers as I tilt my head up to listen to Negan's deep tissue groans coming from down the hall. As quietly as I can, I scoot the bench back and have a seat. The piano feels like it was sanded down and repainted with a light coat of lacquer to polish it off. I lift up the fallboard and expose the keys, gingerly touching over them.

I listen some more for his sounds, and brave to put a finger down on a key to see if there's a reaction. Nothing. I try another, tapping it quickly and again don't hear the noise come to a halt. I take a deep breath and position my fingers properly before softly playing "You are my sunshine."

"That was pretty damn good." _Fuck!_ Negan startles me, making my fingers strike skittishly at some of the keys. He stands in the doorway, shirtless, with Frankie slightly behind him.

"I didn't mean to disrupt your massage." I shyly say, getting up from the bench.

"Nah, sit down," Negan waves for me to sit, "Play us another."

"No." I softly, but adamantly state, leaving the drawing room and towards the stairs.

I get down to the fourth floor and meet the other wives who are all coming back from being outside.

"Hey, you changed your mind?" Hazel asks.

"Uh, yeah." I claim falsely.

"Want me to go back with you?"

"No, that's okay," I shake my head, "I can go on my own."

"You sure?" Tonya raises a brow in some concern.

"Yes, I am." I smile and then go down the hall.

 **...**

They were right last night when they said it was getting hotter outside. The sun accosts my eyes when I step outside and the heat scorches down on my skin. I put my hand to my brows to block the sunlight and to help me search for these impressive new fence dead. It doesn't take me long since one; they're impaled or chained to the fences and two, the sun is glaring on the tops of their heads.

I go down the concrete steps and walk over to the fences for a closer look. Solara waves at me as I make my way over and so I put a hand up back to her. Her new partner is the other guard who usually is on shift with Yancy. It seems a little impolite to come here to make a spectacle of things that were once people, but I don't think their feelings will get hurt. Once at the fences, I put my hands behind my back and inspect closer as if I'm at an art gallery. Some type of metal has been melted down and poured over the rotters' heads and chest areas. The ones that can see me, rattle the fence they're stuck to, or reach their mangled fingers my way.

"It helps maintain their physical integrity," I turn my head over at Eugene who's approaching, "It also will ensure protection to the walkers from hostiles and calamities."

"Oh," I swallow some dryness in my throat, "cool." _Walkers?_ That's a new term I haven't heard before.

"Yes, very cool, indeed." Eugene nods curtly in agreement. "The other wives were just here a minute ago."

"I didn't want to go at first," I notice that his tone is less cavalier than it was last time we spoke, "I changed my mind."

A radio suddenly crackles out nowhere. "I'm about two miles down the road, so open the gates." Simon's voice demands. I discover the radio's coming from Eugene's pocket when he looks down.

"Copy that." Solara answers, which I can hear from both the radio and her standing ten feet away. Her and the other guard slide the gate open in preparation of Simon's arrival.

As I look over there, something else catches my eye with its flickering. It's about twenty or more feet away from where the guards stand and typically where trucks are parked when they come for delivery.

"Well, I best get back to work." Eugene says and I nod, walking off myself.

I approach the shiny thing on the ground, looking over my shoulder at the guards. They're looking at each other; the man scrunches his face in confusion, and claims to not know who "Oliver fucking Twist" is. Once I get over to the spot, I look down on the ground to find something almost shocking.

A key, more specifically, Fat Joey's key that I lost and thought that Daryl used to escape. Looks like I didn't majorly fuck up like I initially thought. It's almost laughable, if it wasn't for what happened because of Daryl's running off. I bend over and pick up the key, hearing a whistle from behind me. I turn my head around to see Davy and some other dude walking by, straight faced, as if it wasn't either of them. I can guess who might have been the whistler. Even as a wife, the others and myself aren't safe from the occasional wolf whistle or eye ogling from undersexed Saviors. Whether, or not Negan minds is another story, because it never happens when he's around. It may be a look, but don't touch sort of rule.

The sounds of a truck coming through the gates causes me to clasp the key in my hand and move to go back inside. As I'm about to go up the concrete stairs, a few men and Negan emerge from the lower factory doors. _Shit._

"Fancy meeting you here," Negan smiles, "What are you doing?" His question is more of a demand for answer than a curiosity.

"Eugene was showing me the improved defenses and... integrity for the walkers." I claim, glancing over at Simon's truck pulling into the place I was just standing. I thought he said they'd be here by lunchtime. It's nearly three o'clock. There are four men in the back and one of them is clearly the new guy. I can tell by his uneasy, yet calm demeanor and by the way one of the recognizables motions for him to get out when they stop. Simon jumps down from the lifted truck and adjusts his pants, before stalking over.

"Good afternoon, " Negan smirks, shaking Simon's hand, "Did ya get stuck in traffic?"

"A little bit," Simon grins back, "We had to clear some a small heard that wondered onto the road."

"How close to home?" Negan asks.

"Not at all," Simon replies, "closer to our friends at Hilltop." His eyes glance over at me and his face expresses something of surprise at my new condition.

"While you were gone," Negan says, taking notice, "Nan and I tied the knot."

Only one of Simon's eyebrows lowers. "Hope you saved me some cake."

Negan chuckles, putting an arm around my shoulders, which I shrink out of. "I'm gonna go back inside," I grin blandly, "It's hot out here."

Negan looks over at who must be the new doctor, before kissing me on the temple. "Sure, baby, sure. Go inside." _Thanks for the permission._

"Um," I hold out my hand, "I found this on the ground."

Negan takes the key and looks it over. "Well, I guess our belated Joey just simply fuckin' lost his key like a fuckwit." _Well, no...but sure._ I briefly look at Simon and then leave without another word.

 **...**

Once inside, I dodge all the ridiculing stares from some of the workers and Saviors that watch me go towards the stairs. When I'm on the second floor, I can hear water running and small talk coming from both bathrooms as I round the corner. Just as I'm nearing to pass them, Dwight emerges from the men's room with wet hair and a towel that looks like it has his toiletries wrapped in it. He glances my way and stops. Like a deer in the headlights, I stand frozen with uncertainty of what to do or say. Last time I saw him, which was yesterday, I fled the scene like a coward.

"Hi." _He speaks!_ I'm stunned in either fear or joy that he's just spoken to me, which is something I had previously concluded that he would never do again.

 _Say something back, dip._ "Um, hi," I coolly rasp.

"How's your shoulder?" He inquires causally.

"Better," I touch it awkwardly, "I, uh, think it might be healed, but Eugene's never around the infirmary, so...um, yeah. How's your hand?"

Dwight holds up his still sutured hand. "The new doctor-"

"He just got here." I blurt out.

"Right," He continues, "I'm gonna have him remove them. They've been in a few days too long."

"Oh." I nod back, wanting to say so much more, but not being able to find the courage or the words. "Well, I hope that goes well. I have to go."

"Yeah." Dwight exhales. I clear my throat and walk past him, noting the fresh scent of soap coming from him as I do.

I climb the stairs as fast as I can in wedges, feeling the burn since there's so many fucking stairs to go before I make it to the top. Once there, I'm sore as hell and panting out of breath. Danica leans over from inside the drawing room.

"You alright?" She inquires with mild worry on her face. I nod as I try to catch my breath. "Still want a trim?"

"Sure."

 **...**

I sit patiently as she trims the dead ends off my hair, thinking about my encounter with Dwight. He spoke to me and asked how I was. _He asked about your shoulder, not you._ Same thing!

"Has your hair always been this color?" Danica asks as hairdresser small talk.

"Um, it use to be lighter when I was kid." I answer plainly, before going back to my head. He wasn't unkind, but he wasn't friendly either. He had a sort of decent civility... _Quit it. Politeness doesn't equal forgiveness, or desire to take back your sorry ass._

When Danica's done, three inches of split ends are cut from my copper brown hair. I hop into the shower after she offers to sweep up the hair from off the floor, because it reminds her of the "good ol' days."

A little while after she leaves, who else but the king dick himself comes into the bathroom after knocking once for warning. His eyes squint at the apparent noticing of my hair being a little shorter, but doesn't comment on the not so drastic change. Instead, he walks over to the toilet and undoes his zipper. It's not the first time I've seen someone pee while I shower, and his back is turned, but it still irritates me.

"You might wanna step out..." He warns without glancing over before flushing the toilet.

"Ah!" I shriek at the boiling spike of the water on my flesh, frantically opening the door and leaping out.

"Because the water gets hot when the toilet flushes." Negan finishes with a laugh. _Son of a bitch_. The water shuts off and I snatch up my towel from the top of the door, wrapping the soft fabric around my unmentionables. "Goddamn," He approaches me, "I did warn you. Don't take it so fuckin' hard, Jesus Christ."

"I'm not," I pad over to the bathtub to sit on the rim, "Uh, please wash your hands." I just about snap when he follows me over, possibly with the mind to touch me.

"Excuse me?"

"You just peed," I say to his surveying eyes, "It's kind of gross to touch someone else if you haven't washed your hands."

He only laughs before going over to the sink and demonstrates, with much sarcasm, him washing his hands with soap and water. "For a gal who's phenomenal between the sheets, you sure are an uptight pain in the ass on your feet." Negan dries his hands off. _Phenomenal?_

"I don't think respecting basic hygiene is uptight." I retort.

"A high powered magnet couldn't pull the needle outta your ass," He insists, strolling over to me which makes me wonder why I haven't left yet, "I think your little piano tantrum proved that."

"I didn't have a tantrum. I just didn't want to play anymore." I correct.

"Why the hell not? You sounded like you knew what you were doing." He tauntingly puts a finger to my nose ring and wiggles it until I bring my hand up to swat it away.

"I just didn't." I huff. The edge of the bathtub is starting to make my ass sore.

Negan's eyes read my agitation and his face softens into something more serious. "Do you want to be here, Anna?"

"What?" I look up in bewilderment.

"Do you want to be here?" He says each word carefully.

"...Yes."

"Really? Because you sure as shit aren't acting like it." His voice has more of an edge to it.

"How am I acting?"

"Colder than a witch's titty," Negan scoffs, " and correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that myself and the ladies were treating you _very_ well. Help get you all transitioned and comfortable with your new life, because I get that it maybe a hard fuckin' pill to swallow, although you seem to swallow just fine."

I huff in disbelief. "I-"

"I don't know where you came from Anna, but here, when you're shown such five- fucking- star hospitality, the kind that plenty of other gals downstairs would love to have shown to them; you repay that with a little gratitude. You say thank you for the priviledge that's given to you, when others have to fucking earn points for their next fucking meals. Instead, you mope the fuck around like I shit in your scrambled eggs, when in actuality; I'm the reason you ate like a fat lady cheating on her diet the other morning, which don't get me wrong, I think you could stand to put some pounds on, but-"

"I'm sorry!" I interject, not wanting to hear anymore.

"You're what?" Negan squints.

"I'm sorry." I repeat more demurely with tears, like the sons of bitches that they are, rising up.

Negan sticks his tongue in his cheek as he assesses me before letting out a discontented sigh. "Maybe I misread you, sweetheart," He looks at me with less heated look, "I thought you wanted me, but were too busy being strung along by Dwight to admit that you did, and so you made up that arrogant crap as a reason not to. What'd you call it again?"

"Self preservation." I mutter shamefully.

"Yeah," He smirks acridly, "Self preservation. You said that was the why we couldn't fool around in Rick's bathroom and yet, here you are. And what for?" I don't speak, so he continues. "If you don't want to be here, Anna, then say so because I don't want you here if you don't want to be here."

I lower my head. "I want to be here."

"Speak up and fucking look at me when you do." His tone gets sharper.

I raise my head and make eye contact. "I said I want to be here, Negan."

"Why do you want to be here?"

"Because maybe being with you is self preservation." I falter some more. _Or preservation for someone else who better deserves it._ "Maybe I didn't want to see that before."

I wasn't good to Charlie, even though he was the only one who ever truly loved me. Dwight and I swore each other off before I went to Alexandria and it only took me three to four hours to almost let another person, Negan of all people, fuck me. Is that the kind of woman Dwight wants? Needs or deserves? All the insecurities and doubts that bubbled in my head when we were together confirmed to me that I can't put someone through that again. At least with Negan, I know I won't stray because of the heavy consequences that would befall the other person. Being married to him will be a deserved fate for me. A sort of penance for what I've done.

A low smile forms across Negan's face. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I meet his gaze with misty-eyed earnestness, "You're right. Dwight was stringing me along." It's probably for the best if Negan believes his own conclusions about Dwight and I. "Turns out he didn't like me as much as I thought he did."

"Damn, bet you felt foolish." Negan half- chuckles, tucking a damp strand of hair kindly behind my ear.

"I didn't mean to seem ungrateful, or cold," I touch his hand as it swoops under my ear, "I just- I was-"

Negan shushes me calmly. "It's alright, I understand." His charmingly low voice almost convinces me that he does.

"I'm sorry for-"

"Don't be sorry," He places a hand gently under my shoulder blade and I get the hint to stand up, "You don't have to be sorry and you don't have to cry." Negan then kisses my forehead, endearingly, I think. "Let's you and me put this behind us, huh?"

A smile bleakly forges itself onto my face. "I promise to I'll be better."

Negan smirks back, then leans down and sensually kisses me which I melt into, prepared to end the day on the design to be better at whatever the fuck you want to call this. However, like all those other times I've said that I would be better, I have the good sense to know that I may likely fail to keep my word.

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Again, thanks for all the support. It's always much appreciated.**

 **Nenan and Yosra72: I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter. I think you two may be the only ones who met the Nan and Negan marriage with warmth, Lol! Thank you for the kind feedback!**

 **WickedlyMinx: Wow, thank you for such a gracious compliment on my writing. I see it as an accomplishment that I was able to convey Nan's disquietude with her choice, well enough that someone could sense, or feel it just from reading it. Again, thank you.**


	24. Jealous?

_"It's late, Syl," I cross my arms over my chest, "I'm sorry you had a fight with your girlfriend, but I think you should probably go home."_

 _"I don't want to be alone. Can't I stay here?" She asks with mascara-streamed eyes._

 _"Absolutely not. Charlie's flight gets in around four, so he'll be home early in the morning."_

 _"I'll sleep on the sofa."_

 _"No, Sylvie," I scoff, never seeing her so uncollected, "Charlie would freak...and rightfully so. And put that damn thing out. I don't want my apartment smelling like smoke." I tread over to a window and slide it open._

 _"Dios mio, he smokes."_

 _"Not indoors."_

 _"Oh, well perdoname for not being as perfect as Charlie," She snottily dabs the cigarette out on a magazine that sits on my coffee table, "We'll see how perfect he is when he comes home with perfume on his collar."_

 _"Don't be a bitch," I roll my eyes, "And you don't get to be jealous."_

 _"Celosa?" Sylvie points to herself incredulously. "Of who?"_

 _"Of Charlie."_

 _"Why would I be jealous of him when I can have you and anyone other girl by the pussy whenever I want?" She vulgarly holds up two fingers._

 _"Get out."_

 _"I'm not jealous of him. He should be jealous of me!"_

 _"Really? Jealous of you? You're a fucking masochist! I swear you're not happy unless you've got your head between some girl's legs that isn't your girlfriend. That's probably why Elle, or whatever the fuck her name is, dumped your ass!"_

 _"Are you the kettle or the pot, corazon?" Sylvie chuckles with a raised brow._

 _"I loved you, Sylvie, and you played me like a fucking cello while you were out with other women! Do you have any idea how that affected me, or do you just not care?"_

 _"You knew I didn't believe in monogamy when you met me!" She fires back._

 _"You made me think I was different," Angry tears begin to well up, "Hell, you told me I was different!"_

 _"You are, Anna," She says as a cold matter of fact, "but like I said, I'm not monogamous."_

 _"Then why do you keep getting into relationships?!"_

 _"Because I don't like to be alone!"_

 _"That doesn't give you the right to hurt people! And if you have all these other girls on file, why don't you just leave me alone and go be with them?!"_

 _"Maybe I will! And what about you? You are with this guy that you 'love' but you still keep coming back to me!"_

 _"And I hate myself every single time! Because I know you're cruel and you get a kick out of causing problems!"_

 _"Yes, that's right! Make me out to be this devious mistress with evil, seduction powers, so that you don't have to look in the mirror and take some goddamn fucking accountability for your actions!"_

 _"Get the fuck out my apartment! I'm done and I don't want to fucking see you again!"_

 _Sylvie laughs darkly at me as she snatches up her coat and purse. "Gonna have Sanne and Felix fire me?"_

 _"No, but if you had any sense of decency, or rationality, you'd look for another job." I retort._

 _"I'm not going to leave my job, because you can't keep your panties on around me!"_

 _"Far be it from you to the right thing!"_

 _"You're the one cheating on Charlie, not me! So don't fucking talk to me about doing the right thing!" She yells fiercely before opening the door and storming off. I stalk to the door and slam it close._

 _"Fuck!" I cry._

 _The sound of door opening and closing makes me open my puffy, tear trodden eyes. Charlie's footsteps can be quietly heard coming down the hall to the bedroom. When he's crossed into our room, I roll over to look at his travel weary face._

 _"I woke you up." He smiles as he kicks off his shoes._

 _"It's okay. I haven't really slept much anyway." I snuggle over to him when he gets into bed._

 _"Have you been you crying?" His fingers brush hair out of my face. I close my eyes and nod. "Why? You didn't miss me that much, did you?"_

 _"I love you, Charlie," I push myself up to look at him, "I love you." I repeat with watery eyes._

 _I can tell by his worried look that he's probably thinking that I fucked up again and am now regretting it. "What's wrong, Nan?"_

 _"Nothing," I fib, "How was New York? Was Tim's bachelor party fun?"_

 _"Yeah, it was fine. Now tell me, what's wrong?" He insists._

 _I sigh. "Sylvie came over last night, but nothing happened, I swear."_

 _"She came into our home?" Charlie shifts a bit away from me._

 _"Charlie, I didn't know she was coming, she just showed up. I told her to leave and that I was done with her. For good this time," I beseech him to listen by touching his arm, "You were right about her. I hate to say it, but my mom was right about her, too. She's not a nice person and I'm done with all the shit I put you through." He sighs through his nose, unhappy, but he continues to listen. "I want to build my life with you. Whatever that means for us, I want that. I want you and only you."_

 _Charlie sighs, petting Bebe who hopped on the bed as soon as she became aware of his presence. "Yeah?"_

 _"Yes," I kiss him on the cheek, "Maybe we should think about that townhouse?"_

 _He shifts to his side and takes my arm to pull me close. "Are you serious?"_

 _"Absolutely."_

 **...**

"Fucking hell." I groan as I wake up my usual way. I stretch out my arms, touching the bars of my bed as I do. My head turns at the sound of Amber lightly snoring. It's kind of cute, maybe since she has such a baby doll face. Seeing her asleep across the room with a face smoothed without worry or strife, makes me feel a little bad for all the times I've been short with her. It's not like I purposely target her as a scapegoat for all my problems that I can't appropriately take out on Negan, but for some reason I catch myself being less patient with her than I am with all the others. _You're just a bitch._

I stretch out my legs and then drag myself out of bed. My heels are killing me from the blisters that have rubbed from always wearing heels. Even my baby toes have them as well as the sides of my feet. I don't think I've ever worn heels as consistent footwear ever before now. Tonya said my feet would eventually get use to it, but after being here for about a month now, I am seriously not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. The toe nail polish that I haven't changed since my wedding is holding up like a champ with no chips.

Unless I'm leaving the top floor, I go bare foot to spare my feet the pain. I slip on the lingerie, which is the only form of bra and underwear available to me, since my old bra and pairs of underwear were thrown out shortly after my arrival. I slip on my robe and go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

I can hear the water going behind the door, so I just knock briefly before opening the door, since that's kind of the common courtesy. I don't typically look over at the shower as a means of the providing some privacy, but I really avert my eyes when, surprise, surprise; it's Negan. He and I are the only ones who get up early up here. I learned that he wakes up at five every morning, while I usually get up around six out of conditioned habit from my bread making days. Lately though, I seem to be getting up earlier to either pee frequently through out the night, or just in general around five in the morning as well.

"Mornin', gorgeous." He says over the shower water.

"Morning." I clear my throat. _Gorgeous..._ That makes me miss Hal, who I haven't seen since our last spat. I glance over to the shower through the mirror as I brush my teeth, noting that bandage wrapped around his wrist that he has leaning over the shower wall to keep dry. I first saw it when we were last in Alexandria, but I figured whatever's under it would've have healed by now.

Speaking of Alexandria, Negan sent a few trucks out two days ago to collect and apparently everything seemed fine and dandy. Rick wasn't there, according to what Gary told Negan, but there was plenty to bring back and still no signs of Daryl. I was a little bummed out that Negan hadn't gone with them, but I guess he figured they were subdued enough to not need to have their hands held by Negan through the process.

Shit, he caught me staring. The water shuts off. "See anything you like?" He jests, wrapping a towel around his waist.

I twist my mouth and spit toothpaste into the sink. "What happened to your wrist?"

Negan steps over to the sink and grabs his toothbrush from one of the holders. "It's a dangerous fuckin' world out there, sweetheart," He reaches around my waist to get to the toothpaste, "Be grateful you get to stay safe inside."

I bite my lip, wanting to ask him again and why it hasn't healed yet, but decide not to since he practically avoided answering. And because I won't have heart failure if I don't know. Ever since our little conversation two weeks ago, I've been really hesitant to press any buttons, or step on any toes of his. I haven't been kissing his ass; I don't have it in me to exercise that level of effort, but I have been less estranging than before.

I bend down towards the sink, pool some water into my hands, and wash my face. I rub my eyes and see his face in the mirror to be close to mine as he spits into the sink with a grin. I continue to wash my face, but can't help but to flinch when he does exactly what I predicted he would. He presses himself to me and I feel his dick hardening against me. I straighten up, patting my face dry with a hand towel and he snakes a hand across my belly.

"I think you're putting on a little weight, Anna." His face is in the crook of my neck while his hands roam down around my thighs, caressing the small amount of weight that I have admittedly put on in the last month.

I huff as I close my eyes at the feeling of his minty breath cooling my skin into goose bumps. "I thought you said I should?"

"Did you hear me complaining?" He chuckles as his hands take hold of my hips which he pulls outwards to him. I sigh through my nose at the excitement between my legs as his desire continues to poke at me. "Do you want it?" He laughs into my ears. Negan reaches around to untie my robe that he then slides down, letting it fall to the floor. "Tell me you want it."

 _Dammit._ I can't control the stirrings below. It's like an unexplained lust that just jumped awake out of nowhere. "I want it." I feel a pound of shame as I lower my panties for him.

Negan smiles that goddamn smile then sticks his foot between mine and kicks them apart while simultaneously removing his towel. I put my hands out against the sink and stretch back to him, until he positions himself behind me and delves in. "Jesus," He groans with a husky laugh, "You really do want it, huh? Not that I'm at all surprised."

I look in the mirror with annoyance at his partially true comment and close my eyes quickly when he bucks into me which causes me to whimper at the force.

"Shit. Sorry, honey," Negan's nonchalant, but sincere apology makes me open my eyes, "Got a little carried away, there." He snickers before easing in and out of me less roughly. I gaze at his reflection for a minute. He should've apologized for brutishly thrusting into me, but it just sounded weird coming from him.

I moan with my mouth closed and shut my eyes again as I grip the sink. Dwight resurfaces into my head, because he inconveniently orbits around whenever Negan and I are practicing the maritals. After he took me against the back of the armchair and thought he accidentally didn't pull out in time, we never had sex like this again. I guess he didn't want to risk it again, or something. I almost laugh at the whole ordeal, but force myself not to, given the current situation. He asked if I felt "it" inside me, which makes me think he's never had that happen with Sherry, or else they used contraceptives because the few, rare times that it has happened to me, I never felt anything. Or maybe it was okay if he did, because they were married and loved each other, perhaps even trying to start a family. _Stop thinking of him with her, you perverse sicko!_

I move my cheek into my shoulder and squeeze my eyes tighter to try and get the image of him with her out of my demented brain. Of him with me. I let out sharp moan that echoes off the tiled walls. A second after I do, Negan rapidly pulls out, emptying all over the back of my legs.

"Holy shit." He throatily chuckles as he tries to catch his breath, still hovering behind me. I take the hand towel and clean myself off, before he turns me around to face him. He sticks his tongue down my throat and then pulls away. "You are something else, Nan," He snickers, "that sound you made damn near gave us a close call. I was right when I said you were full of surprises."

 **...**

I walk down to the library with Persuasion that I finished after breakfast in search of another book. When I get there, there's another person inside. It's Mark, the guy who got ironed for sneaking around with Amber behind Negan's back, instead of doing redirect. After that horrible scene, I've seen him every so often, walking around with a bandage covering the burned half of his face. Today, his face is uncovered, but it still looks pretty bad. It's obviously not as healed as Dwight's which are at least a year older than Mark's.

He's holding up a little plastic cup with pills in it to Lillian who's shaking her head. "No, I don't want that!" She crows.

"Lillian," His tone is firm but kind, "we've been over this a thousand times. It's medicine for your lungs."

"I promise I'm fine, I don't need that. I don't need any of it." Lillian's harrowed eyes move over to me and Mark turns around.

"Um, hi," I step into the library, "I'm back." I smile faintly at Lillian, whose eyes scan across me.

Mark turns back towards her. "Please, Lil, just take the pills. It'll help you feel better."

"No, I can't. I won't!" She shouts and tosses a book off the shelf that he dodges. It was a hard cover with rigid corners that catches me in the thigh, causing a superficial gash alongside it.

"Oh, no," Her voice changes into one that's more soft and motherly, "I'm so sorry, angel." _Angel?_ She moves around Mark and touches my scrape that has a small amount of blood.

"Lillian, she's-"

"I just don't want you to have to do this because of me," She then puts her arms tenderly around me, "You deserve to be happy, even in this place. I'm supposed to take care of you, not the other way around."

I put a hand on the back of her shoulder and pat it lightly. "It's okay," I rasp from having a dry throat, "It was an accident."

She pulls herself back and stares upset and confused. She grimaces at my face and then stalks off in the direction she came from. Mark reaches down and pick ups the pills from off the floor. "Please," He softly pleads, "I have some water. You'll feel better." She looks acridly at him. "She wants you to." Lillian then bitterly takes the cup and downs its contents, taking a swing of the water Mark hands her.

"It was my fault," She mumbles, "You came in like a bird through a window and I told her not to, but she was always careless. I should have said no. Now look."

I take a random book off the shelf and leave. Instead of going towards the top, I decide to mosey down the hall in the direction of the lower levels. I faintly hear Mark make some sort of promise, or assurance to Lillian before his footsteps are out in the hall. I glance over my shoulder at him and he looks at me somewhat timidly. While some Saviors, like that asshole Davy, might leer at Negan's wives; others just leave us be and show some curt civility towards us. I turn back around and look at the book I picked up. The _Catcher in the Rye?_ Ugh, I hate this one, but it won't take me long to read and I am making a list that is not, I repeat, not a boring waste of time.

"Um," Mark's voice makes me look back over at him, "Listen, I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be," I say, "she's, uh, mentally ill?"

Mark nods. "She's got schizophrenia...and a lung condition."

"That's rough." We both distance ourselves when a Savior woman walks past us in the hall.

"She has her good and bad days," Mark claims, "there isn't any type of psychiatric meds here, or a doctor who's good at this sort of thing, so the only thing we can give her is the meds for her sickness. But she still thinks it the medication for her disorder and she wasn't ever a big fan of those, so I have to make sure she gets them."

This makes me think of my mother and sorely miss her. She was a psychiatrist and was good at her job. She was just bad at mothering a child whom she believed was mentally ill. _Like a bird through a window...or an adulterer._ A light bulb strikes in my head. "She's...Amber's mom, right?"

Mark doesn't answer me. Right as we get within a few feet of the door to the stairs, a door flings open and a man comes sauntering out, adjusting his belt. He heads towards the stairs, while a red headed woman leans in on the doorframe with confidence. She looks over at Mark and winks with a smirk on her face. He just goes into the room next to hers with an embarrassed look and closes the door. Well, I guess he's not exactly waiting for Amber to come back.

I make it down to the second floor and I walk past Dwight's door carefully, dreadfully wondering if he'll seek out other comforts like Mark, until I make it to my old room door. The couple that Simon made waves for got back together two days after I married Negan, so Rachel moved out of my room. _One- two- three- four- five go!_ I knock on the door. I wait for a few seconds until it opens.

I clear my throat, nervously. "Hey, handsome."

Hal looks me over, unpleased. "Hi, Anna."

"I haven't seen you in awhile," I smile weakly, "Can I, um, come in?"

"Don't think that's a good idea, love." He answers plainly.

"We can leave the door open." I suggest with a slight pleading tone.

Hal sighs and then nods before going back inside and I follow. The room has more things in it than when I owned it, but Hal always had more than me since he earned more. "What do you want?"

"To see how you are," I timidly say, " I heard that you accepted the offer and I wanted to see how you're handling the changes."

Hal scoffs rudely. "I'm alright."

"Made any friends?" I only ask because it's probably hard to go from worker to Savior and not know where you stand socially with anyone. Hal was pretty well liked by majority of the workers, but this probably severed that. And just because you become a Savior doesn't mean you'll find camaraderie right away. At least when I did it, the workers had already turned their backs to me and Dwight was nice to me, even before we became "friends."

"Laura's been real chummy with me." He replies with a huff.

"Be nice to her, Hal," I demand softly, "She's one of the good ones." _As far as good goes in Saviorhood, anyway._

"Yeah, _real_ friendly."

I can't help but laugh a little. "She told me she thought you were 'hot' once." Hal looks over at me and I can see he's trying to maintain his cool manner with me. "She's good lookin' and I bet if you got to know her, you'd really like her, stud crumpet."

Hal's taciturn wall doesn't hold and he chuckles under his breath. "You're such a dick, Nan, you know that?"

I smile, but somberly. "Hal, Reed heard me call you 'soldier' and connected the dots. I never meant for Negan to find out. You know that, right?"

He gazes at me and I stare back with earnest eyes. Hal inhales through his nose and then exhales sharply before he nods. "Yeah, mate. I know that." I step towards him with the intention to hug him, but he shakes his head. "We can't do that anymore, Nan and you know we can't."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" He half- mocks. "Don't take this the wrong way, love, but you're territory. Territory that I'm not trying to piss on."

I know he told me not to take offense, but I do. _Territory?_ "I thought you didn't care what people think."

"Yeah, but that was when we were a Savior and a worker being friends," Hal scoffs, "Now, we're a Savior and Negan's...one of Negan's wives."

"We're just friends." I huff.

"We know that," Hal reasons, "But from the outside, you and I don't look like just friends. And we both know that it doesn't matter what the truth is, it only matters what it looks like."

I knit my brows in bewilderment. "What do you mean by that? 'It doesn't matter what the truth is'?"

"What happened to Carson," He rolls his eyes, "he was innocent, let's be honest. Dwight lied."

What he says devastates me, hearing that hard truth a second time. "What are talking about?" I play dumb anyways.

"Nan," His tone is scolding, "Don't be coy. He lied about Carson letting Daryl out."

I neither agree, nor disagree. "So, we can't be friends, because you're afraid that Negan will make you part of the iron club?"

"I didn't say we couldn't be friends," Hal clarifies, "We just can't hug and all that."

"That's bullshit."

"Well, I hate to say this, but you should'nt have married him then." I give a blunt glare. "Why did you?"

I wiggle my nose irritably. "Dwight and I didn't work out."

Hal has a look on his face that let's me know how utterly illogical an explantion that is. "Speaking of Dwight."

"Yeah?"

"He's...not so unfriendly as I might've thought before," He grins at my sudden interest, "But that might be because I'm one of them now."

"He's nice to you?"

"He's alright." Hal concludes dryly. Call me a narcissist, but I'd like to think that that may have something to do with me.

I smile and turn to leave before the water works start. I honestly don't know why I'm such a crybaby little milksop lately, but it's getting fucking old. "Well, I guess I'll see ya around."

"Gorgeous!" He calls out last minute and I turn. He smirks on one side. "These two on the left? Do they ever stop shagging like rabbits?"

I grin and shake my head. "Nope. Enjoy."

 **...**

I'm late to dinner that evening because I fell asleep while reading. I uncontrollably yawn as I walk into the dining room, taking my seat next to Negan. Looks like we're having some type of bow tie pasta dish with rolls and asparagus. Negan immediately starts in as soon as I sit down.

"So glad you could join us, Anna. Grace us with your warm presence," I can't tell if he's serious, or joking," Meals aren't the same without your smile and captivating conversations." _Joking, of course._

"I fell asleep." I don't know why I explain myself.

Negan, for whatever reason, tilts his head to the side, as if he sees something under the table. "Did I see a bruise or something on your leg?" _Boy nothing gets past you._

I nod as I break a roll in half. "The librarian hit me with a book." I glance up and Amber's eyes on me confirm my earlier suspicions. However, I also note the other wives looking up towards Amber and Negan, who's looking at Amber with a small glint of frustration on his face. _Peddle, girl._ "Um, well, not me, exactly. She tossed it at Mark...who was trying to get her to take some medicine. She apologized. It really isn't that big a deal."

My eyes flicker to Amber briefly and then back to Negan who shakes his head once with a huff. "Well, hell, you are seriously danger prone, aren't you?" He smiles at me and I return it with a flat chuckle to help throw off any tension.

Twenty minutes later, Negan stands up, tossing his napkin down on the table. "Hey, blondie," Amber looks up with glossy eyes, "Can we talk for a minute?" He points towards his bedroom. She nods then gets up from the table, putting her fork down, and follows him to the room.

The rest of the table is quiet, because we're all trying to listen to see if we can make out anything being discussed. Negan's deep voice and Amber's mousy one can be heard from where I'm sitting, but what's being said is unintelligible due to their low volume.

Three minutes drag by; before the door opens and Amber's heeled steps can be heard behind me. I look over and see her walk past the dining room, down the hall, and then I hear our door open and close. _Shit._ That was my fault. I excuse myself from the table and exit to go to our room. I knock, for some unknown reason, and go inside. I find her lying across her bed, facing the wall, and muffling the sounds of crying.

"Amber?" I approach cautiously. I count to five in my head before sitting down on the edge of her bed. I count another five before speaking. "I'm...sorry if I got you in trouble with Negan. I didn't know she was your mom." That last part is sort of a lie, but if fibbing a little will convince Amber that I didn't do it out malice, then so be it. "She's not in trouble is she?"

"No," Amber sniffs, "But he's not happy that she's getting violent again."

"Again?"

"When her psychosis is bad...she gets a little unpredictable," Amber's voice cracks a little with a whimper, "It's not her fault. She can't help it...she's sick and we don't have the type of medicine that can help her."

"How long has she been ill?" I inquire.

"Since I was nine," She answers, "that's why I married him. She has lung problems, too. It was the only to make sure she didn't suffer as much. Mark said we could all work together to help her, but she needs oral steroids and inhalers and it was getting too expensive." I add another five before I run a hand kindly on her arm and she sits up to look at me with eyes as big as a Margaret Keane painting. "Negan said he would give her a job that wasn't too much for her and she could have meds without having to pay for them."

 _Don't ask._ "Did you tell her about the bird that flew in?"

"Yes." Amber looks at me with furrowed brows.

"And, um, about you and Mark a couple of weeks ago?"

"...That's where we went," She lies back down, "I asked her to stand out in the hall, even though she told me we'd get caught." That explains the nonsensical things that she said the other day as well as today. _"Now look."_ She was probably talking about Mark's face. Amber's open confession to me is either from the alcohol on her breath, or because everyone pretty much knows about what happened, so she doesn't see the use of concealing that she was in the library with Mark.

"Well," I stand up, unzipping my dress which has a zipper on the side, "Mark really seems to care about her." I turn off the lamp and crawl under my blankets on my bed. It's only seven- thirty, but I'm no stranger to going to bed early. I look over at Amber who's turned to the wall again.

 **...**

The next two days are uneventful. When I return to the library on the second day, Amber's mom is still working there, so I guess Negan didn't do anything. For a little while, I was fearful that he might resort to keeping her locked away in one of the cells. He was probably just being a dick to Amber for his own amusement, because out of all six of us, she's easily the weakest link who he can get a rise out of effortlessly. _Or maybe he's not that big of a monster to mistreat someone who's clearly got enough problems._

I climb to the roof on the third day of this week. I walk the perimeter and scorn down at the Saviors I can see like ants below. Looking up and forward, I get distracted by the awe of the view from up here. I can see for miles and miles; the woods, tiny bits of road, and even what look like red brick buildings in the distance. I didn't realize until now how far up we really are and the heat of the sun makes it seem as if I only have to reach my hand up to touch it.

"You should not be up here," I jump a bit and spin around to see Negan, "It's dangerous... and hot as hell." He smiles, his footsteps crunch under the gravel. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I was..." I look around and sigh before staring back at him, "I was looking for something."

"What could you possibly be looking for up here on our roof?" Sweat glistens off him, as I'm sure it does with me as well from the immense heat.

I squint from the sun in my eyes and glance to the side. "The view's nice up here."

Negan follows my gaze and squints as well. "I guess so."

"Is Amber's mom in trouble for what she did?" I take a step closer to him. "She didn't do it on purpose and it was only a scratch and some bruising."

Negan runs a hand across his forehead. "No," He sighs, "She's not gonna be punished, if that's what you mean. But she may have to be locked up if she gets worse."

"She's not dangerous," I insist, "and she's sick. You can't do that!"

"Watch it, Anna." Negan warns and I turn my head away from him and scratch my thumb. "She usually spends a few days in the hole and then she's stable enough to come out. It's not a new procedure."

My heads turns back to his direction and I analyze him. Am I suppose to feel better that locking away Amber's mom in a cell isn't a new procedure? I lower my gaze down on the ground before walking around him to go back inside. He catches me by the crook of my elbow. "What were you looking for up here?"

"A bird." I curtly reply, wanting him to let go.

"A bird?" His humor picks up. "I didn't peg you for a bird watcher."

"I'm not."

"Oh, Jesus, thank God for that," Negan chuckles as he puts his other hand across his chest in phony relief, "I always thought bird watchers were fuckin' weird as fuck. Bird watching is like one fucking step before stalking people, am I right?"

 _Dammit._ A smile cracks across my face at his ridiculous, charismatic statement. _Blame it on the heat._ My smile dips down. "I was looking for a dead bird."

Negan makes a face while his smile remains, letting go of my arm. "A dead bird? Well, I don't know if that's a less creepy reason for being up here, sweetheart."

"The others told me a bird broke its wing last summer when it flew in from the window," I explain, "said you brought it up here."

His expression fades. "Think I killed it?" I shrug and he scoffs. "I was going to...but I didn't."

"Why not?"

"It was gone by time I came back," He smirks at me, "I figured it would either die of exposure, or die when it, "He makes an aerial sound, "plummeted to it's death trying to fly. That's a sad as shit way to go, so I was just gonna clock it once with Lucille out of mercy. But it was gone, when I came back."

"It flew away?"

Negan looks at me with strange candidness that almost has me see him as a different person. "I guess it did."

 **...**

My hands grasp the bedding as my back starts to arch off the bed. It's not the best I've ever had, but Negan's good enough. Dwight definitely has him beat in this subject. I cry out at last and push him away, curling my legs up and closed. As I regain my breath, I swipe my hand through my sweaty hair, disgusted with myself. I came down from the roof with him to get out of the heat, he put his hand on the small of my back as we descended, and then next thing I know; his head is between my legs. _This is why you aren't good for Dwight._

A knock on the door stops Negan from making any wiseass comments, but has me frantically scramble to get off the bed and smooth out my dress. "Come in." Negan sings, much to my horror. _No, he can't let anyone in here!_ The door opens and it's Reed with the logs. He gives me a crass, disapproving up and down before handing Negan the book. I go to leave them and a breeze reminds me that my underwear is over on the floor at the end of his bed. "Nan?"

 _Fuck!_ I glance over at him inquiringly with a burning face. "Hm?"

"Could you be a peach and go pour Reed and I some scotch?"

"Okay." I look quickly over at the floor where my underwear is and then leave. Thank god, Reed won't be able to see them from where he'll sit. I go into the drawing room where almost all the over wives are, take two glasses off the rack, pour the scotch, and then promptly return to the room.

Negan's asking Reed about something when I come back and he allows Reed to answer while his eyes penetrate me. I hand Reed his drink and then step over to Negan and extend out the glass. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls something out, hiding it in his closed hand. He then lifts the glass of scotch from my hand and replaces it with my underwear with a wicked grin. Right in front of Reed. I clutch them in my fist before hurrying out with extreme embarrassment. I let a his little tale of bird mercy trick me into forgetting he's an asshole.

 **...**

I go outside to the front and stare out at whatever's beyond the factory and the maze of dead. This is a moment I really wish I could've been that stupid bird and have flown away from here. _How cliché._ Freedom, or simply wanting to be as far as fuck away from this place is not cliché. I would like to have the ability to go outside the Sanctuary, even if for an hour, but being a wife means that is completely out of the realm of possibility. I thought being one of his workers was confining, at least they sometimes get the chance to leave, even it's just to stick the dead into the vans outside our compound. Then again, they do have way more problems than I do.

 _Just leave him then._ I take several deep breaths, collecting myself. _Ask Dwight to give you another chance._ No, I won't. Even if I entertain the idea of "divorcing" Negan, which I'm not, I would never do so with the intentions of running back to Dwight. Another chance is another failing in the making, as history can tell me.

"Hey," I jump slightly and turn my head to the right, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," I look at Dwight's calm, reserved gaze, "I was just...deep in thought." I then avert my eyes to the shiny roamers on the fence. He would innocently show up out of the blue, just as I'm thinking about him.

Dwight sits down at the steps, pulls out a cigarette, and lights it. Despite me wanting to go back inside, every physical fiber of my being is bent on staying here. I stare at the back of his head like a creep and then look off when his head turns over his shoulder. "Want one?"

"No, I don't really smoke," I answer, "Thanks for offering though."

"Is that a new thing?"

"No, I don't smoke cigarettes." He nods at my answer, turning back away from me.

"What happened to your leg?" He asks casually.

"The librarian threw a book and it hit me." I smile a little when he quietly snickers. Then, I look out and see the guards are facing the other way, playing their stupid game, so I step closer. "How have you been?"

Dwight looks over at me and I catch him glimpse briefly up my dress. "Fine."

"You're always 'fine.'" I retort.

"Yep," He answers, smoke plumes over my way, "You good?"

"Good enough." I reply bleakly as I lean my arm on the railing, watching the two dumbasses at the gate.

"You cut your hair."

"Just a trim." I nod, touching some of the ends. I get the impulse to sit down on the steps with him. That's not doing anything wrong, right? I count to five, but am stopped from moving forward.

"Hey, D!" Both of us look over at Arat who's motioning him over for something. Dwight stands up and steps on his cigarette.

"See ya." He says with a rasp before stalking down the stairs. I mouth 'see ya' back at him before returning to the inside of the factory.

 **...**

I stroll down the halls to go back up to the top. A strange, yet familiar buzzing sound is coming from the same door where I saw that guy who I traded my underwear to. Someone's griping about "the pain" while another tells him to stop being a pussy. The door's open, so I peer inside as I pass, stopping when I see what's going on. The four men, who always seem to be together, look up at me.

"Ma'am." One nods awkwardly.

"Is that what I think it is?" I ask the one holding the odd instrument. He's the same one who I did business with before.

"Depends on what you think it is." He says, turning it off and stepping back from the guy in the chair.

"I think it's an electric toothbrush with the brush broken off and a sewing needle taped in its place." I boldly state.

"Yeah..." He nods.

"You made a tattoo machine?" I arch a curious, skeptical brow.

"Maybe," He touches the one guy's arm with a nitrile-gloved finger, "I don't know how long the ink will hold up, but I won't know if this cunt doesn't stop bitching, pardon my French." I note the ten, thin black tally marks etched into the guy's skin.

"How safe is it?" I inquire. "From getting infected, I mean."

"Oh, real safe," The panty trader smiles, "I sterilize and disinfect everything and all that shit."

I take a deep, reckless breath. "Well, no offense to you, " I look at the guy in the chair before looking back the other, "but if you want to try it out on someone who won't complain, I'll do it."

"Are you shitting me?" He asks in excited disbelief.

"No, I'm serious."

"Nah, dude," One on the left shakes his head, "Not a good idea."

"Negan doesn't have to know," All their heads turn collectively, "I can keep a secret." I say coolly.

"Yeah, but what it if gets infected?" One says with raised eyebrows like he's argued me into a corner.

"We have antibiotics and a doctor." I point out.

"I say it's a no-go, Rett." He warns the guy, whose name I remember now to be Everett.

Everett looks me over in contemplation and then down at the guy in the chair. "You gonna let me finish?"

The guy looks at his arm. "Fuck, no. Not until you find a real tattoo gun."

Everett looks at me. "Negan doesn't have to know?"

I shake my head. "I'll tell him I did it myself, if he asks." _You mean when he asks._

"Have a seat while I reclean everything," Everett grins pushing the one guy to get up from the chair, "Anything in mind?"

"What can you do?" I sit down in the smoky, beer stenched room.

"Well, I'm no artist, but so far anything basic and simple."

"Okay," I breathe, "Let me think for a minute."

"Sounds good," He nods before pointing at me, "Now, before I start, you're giving me your word that the man ain't gonna come down here and melt my face off?"

"Shake on it." I put my hand out and he takes it after some reluctance.

"I hope you're honest, because Dwight's nothing compared to the boss." Everett claims as he cleans the needle.

"What did he do?" I watch as two of the men file out with the idea of not getting caught. "When he came here that night?"

Everett laughs as he changes out his gloves of which he has a box full. "He busted in and said he wanted to talk to me. I knew what it was concerning, so I just stepped out into the hall and tried to explain to him that you and I had a legitimate transaction, but he gave me back the joint and wanted your...form of payment back."

"He fucking punched you in face, Rett," The remaining guy laughs, tipping back a beer, "We heard your head hit the wall."

"Yeah, well that was after I..." He looks at me, "never mind."

"What?" I press. "I'm not with him anymore." That stings a little in the back of my throat.

"No, you're with the boss and I don't want to say shit that'll offend you and get me chained onto the fence."

"I'm sure he's said dirtier things to me," I scowl at how round Everett's eyes get and how the other sits up to listen as if I'll tell them, "Just tell me. I won't get offended. Besides, hurting my feelings isn't grounds for punishment."

Everett sighs in a way that tells me I'm going to regret asking. "I asked him if I could at least jerk off with them once before I gave them back." _Crack!_

"Fuck!" Everett rubs his face.

"I'm sorry, but you deserved it." I shake the slight pain off my hand.

"God," He laughs along with the other guy, "Alright, fair enough."

"Dwight was right to hit you." I say under my breath.

"Yeah," Everett scoffs, "He hit me again when I called you a...not very nice name." I scowl again. "To be fair, it was only to retaliate for the first punch. He told me not to talk about you like that, or to say anything about the trade."

"Really?" A feeling of radiance warms through my chest.

"Yeah," He takes a swig of a beer bottle on the table near us, "The only reason I didn't tell people is because I'm a gentlemen."

"A gentlemen who accepts panties as a method of payment." I huff.

"I like you, Natalie." The other guy holds his beer up to me in praise.

"It's Nan." I correct.

"Oh, whoops. Well, I like you, _Nan_."

"Yeah," Everett clicks on the toothbrush which makes me nervous, "You're a cool customer."

 **...**

"The door was open?" Negan peels back the tape and square of gauze right above my left elbow.

"Yes, I swear." I answer as I sit naked on his bed.

Negan inspects the tattoo, smiling to himself at the small flying blackbird. "How'd they do it?"

"Electric toothbrush and a needle."

"Damn, that is some fucking cool ingenuity!" He laughs.

"So, you aren't mad?" I feel like teenager in trouble with my parents.

Negan runs a thumb across the sore flesh around the tattoo. "I'd advise you not to do it again, but that's just because I think this is gonna get infected."

"But am I in trouble?"

He glances at me with intimidating eyes. "Will you tell me who did it?"

I shake my head gently. "I told you I said I wouldn't, because they were afraid you would be pissed."

"Well, if they thought for a split second, 'shit maybe this isn't so good an idea', they shouldn't have fuckin' done it then, huh?" Negan stares at me before breaking out in a chuckle. "Shit, relax. I'm fuckin' pulling your leg. Nah, you're not in the dog house. Yet."

"So, I don't have to name names?"

"Only if you did something you shouldn't have." He squints half- seriously at me.

"Can I go back to my room for the night?" I gingerly put the gauze back on.

He nods, so I get up and he smacks me on the ass as I walk to the chair to get my robe, making me shriek. "Sorry, I couldn't resist!"

I touch the stinging hand print on my butt cheek. "That hurt!"

"Consider it your punishment." Negan chuckles, leaning back on his bed and putting his hands behind his head

"You said I wasn't in trouble." I sourly murmur which makes him laugh.

"You're not," He claims, "But you were naughty, so I cracked you on your fine behind."

"Prick." I say too low for him to hear.

"Are you seriously gonna leave?" He cranes his head up.

I nod. "You said it was okay." The only reason I came here, on my own initiative, tonight was to tell him about the tattoo which he was going to learn about sooner than later. I figured any discontent or anger could be diluted through a little bedroom talk. I know, I know. I'm despicable.

"Alright, whatever. Could you go find Danica for me then."

That spurns me a little and I peer back at him. "She's probably asleep."

"Probably, but I'm sure she'll wake up if you give her a poke." He snickers.

 _Dammit._ I try to swallow down that demon that Sylvie afflicted me with. The one that reduces me to someone who does what I'm about to do, shamefully. "No," I run a hand through my hair and roll my shoulders, "I'll stay."

"Go if you want, sweetheart," Negan puts a hand out towards the door, "I got five others for a reason. I'm sure you've noticed, Dani has quite the pair of titties, which you sort of lack."

"I'll stay." I walk over to the bed and climb onto him.

Negan stops me from kissing him. "Did I make you jealous?"

I look down at his grin and then come to my senses, backing off of him. _Yes._ "No," I rasp, "Can we just go to bed?" I hate myself for not marching out of the room after realizing that he did exactly what she would do, but I don't want to wake another wife up for him. _Jealous?_ No, never.

Negan looks at me like a victory. "Absolutely."

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I have no idea if a tattoo machine can be fastened out of an electric toothbrush and needle, it just seemed like funny alternative to having an actual tattoo machine. I don't know if this needs to be said, but just in case, don't try that at home! It is most likely not at all safe!**

 **Anywho, hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I will be leaving mid next week for spring break, so I will try to get another chapter in before then, but it may not be as long.**

 **Guest: All I can say about your suspicions ( I think you may have PM'd me on this matter?) is that you'll have to continue to read to find out what happens! :)**

 **P.S. I know I ramble at the end of chapters, but OH MY GOODNESS that finale! Dwight was amazing, I was so ready to see Negan, who was hilarious, scramble at the sight of Shiva, and Sasha was such a hero! I nearly teared up through all her scenes.**


	25. Messing With People

_"Find anything good?"_

 _I hold up an old, used paper back of Jane Eyre. "This little gem in the used bookstore."_

 _Charlie stares at me incredulously before breaking into a chuckle. "Nan, that's hardly something we need."_

 _"Books are useful," I unzip the backpack on the floor and stick the book inside, "For entertainment and improvement of one's mind."_

 _"Yeah, well food and medicine are useful, too. For improvement and preservation of everyone's lives."_

 _"So, you don't want to go back there with me?"_

 _"Babe, we only brought two cars. We need all the space to be for vital resources." Charlie picks the pack off the floor and slings over his shoulder._

 _"Oh, well I guess oatmeal, instant mash potatoes, and hot cocoa mix aren't vital resources," I smirk at his furrowed brows," There's a back room filled with half a wall of big cans of food. I think there might even be some boxes of noodles on the high shelf."_

 _Charlie still looks doubtful. "Are you shitting me? Because that's an odd place to find food."_

 _I look down, solemnly. "There was a guy in there...gunshot wound to the temple."_

 _We leave the five and dime and go into the bookstore, where I take Charlie to the back room to show him my discovery. "Damn."_

 _"Yeah, so suck it." I laugh._

 _Charlie chuckles before reaching over to take a folded piece of paper that's taped to the wall with "Read me" written hastily on the top half. He looks it over and glances back towards the doorway, acknowledging the man who blew his brains out in the self- help section._

 _"What's it say?" I ask,noticing it for the first time._

 _Charlie looks back at the note. "Wife and son gone," he reads, "Don't want to go on. Please help yourself. To the food on the shelf."_

 _I cringe at the sardonic suicide poem that seems like it was written with a numb hopelessness. "Sad."_

 _"Yeah," Charlie agrees, putting the note on an empty shelf, "Let's get it out and loaded. Hopefully the others had some luck."_

 _As we exit the store, one of the biters that straggles along in the town comes limping over. "I got it," I say, reaching for my knife only to find it gone, "Shit." I must have dropped it in the bookstore. Without a word, Charlie comes up and sticks his knife into the back of the dead's skull, giving me a look._

 ** _..._**

 _"You think everything we found will last us through the winter?" I lay with Charlie on our bed, back at the campgrounds._

 _"Mmm, probably" He's got one arm around me, while the other's holding Jane Eyre open as he reads it, " We should be good for a while, but we need to keep looking for more."_

 _"I don't think you should be reading that." I tease, sliding a hand under his shirt to feel his warm chest._

 _"Why, because it's a girl book?"_

 _"No," I aimlessly fiddle with the line of hair under his navel, "Because you dissed Miss Bronte by saying her book was not useful."_

 _"That's when I thought that's all you managed to accomplish after two hours of scavenging. Ow!" He flinches when I pull on the trail of hair. "Asshole."_

 _I giggle mischievously. "I can scavenge without adult supervision, thank you very much. I'm not riding on your coattails."_

 _"I didn't say you were." He sighs deeply and puts the book down, "I just..."_

 _I rest my chin on his chest, looking up at him when he doesn't finish his sentence. "You just what?"_

 _Charlie wraps his other arm around me tenderly. "I just worry sometimes, alright?"_

 _"Worry about what?"_

 _"If something happened to me, would you survive?"_

 _I push myself up and stare more intently down at him. "You think I can't take care of myself without you?" I don't know if I'm worried that he's right, or if I'm offended._

 _"No," He touches my hand that's on his lower abdomen, "I'm worried that you won't want to."_

 _I read his face. "Is this about that guy in the bookstore?"_

 _"This is about you, Anna. Don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes you do rely on me a little too much and I'm afraid that if I die...you'll give up."_

 _"First of all, let's not go there, Charlie and secondly, I don't-"_

 _"You do, honey, "Charlie shuts down my attempt to deny what we both know to be true, "I want to take care you, don't get me wrong, but it's not enough for me to always have your back. You gotta be able to take care of yourself, too."_

 _"I won't depend on you so much, then." I move over and roll so that my back is towards him._

 _"We can depend on each other, Anna," I smell the scent of old book which let's me know that he's picked up Jane Eyre again, "But one day we'll be in a situation where I can't save you and you're gonna have to save yourself."_

 _"Goodnight, Charles." I close my eyes with disquietude, knowing that my worst fears are his, too._

"What the fuck?" Negan groans after I wake him up by accident. "You just fucking kneed me in my side."

Once I realize that I moved close to him in my sleep, I use the bed to push myself away. "Um, sorry."

Negan grunts in frustration and rolls over until his back is facing me. The clock reads two- seventeen in the morning. I put some more distance between us and turn myself over before going back to sleep for a few more hours.

 **...**

Later on this morning, after leaving Negan's room, I agree to French braid Amber's hair for her. She's got a notebook that hangs on the wall over her bed that she's drawn out a calendar on. My eye constantly drifts over to it. "Is that calendar accurate?" I finally ask with some uneasiness.

"Yeah." She says as she applies some of the mascara on her lashes.

"How do you know?"

"We had a guy who kept track of everything," Amber explains, "Since the start. Even before this place."

I nod in response as I continue to weave strands of her hair together. In the beginning, I didn't think anyone kept track of the days, months, or even the time, at least I know I didn't. Focusing on staying alive was more important, but I guess whoever this guy was, he was a little more hopeful than some of us of rebuilding society. "This guy...he's dead now?"

"He died last June."

"Oh." It must have been right before I came, because according to not only hers but all the other calendars displayed in the other places in the factory, I arrived in mid- June.

Amber looks down at her nails in thought. "He got bit out there doing redirect. Mark saw it happen, said they couldn't save him."

I look at her reflection in the mirror of the vanity she's seated at while I do her hair. "Mark use to earn points like you and your mom?"

"Yeah," She sighs, "But after I agreed to marry Negan, he got promoted I guess you could say."

"Because you married Negan?" I arch my puzzled brow.

Amber shakes her head. "No, my mom not having to pay for her medicine was the only deal I made with him."

"What about everyone else?" I inquire, maybe a little too nosily.

"Frankie, Tonya, and Hazel married him because they didn't want to be workers anymore," She states indifferently, "And Danica cut hair until she fell behind on points because of her diabetes." I nod as I wrap the hair tie around the end of her braid, mulling over the information she's given me. "Do you want me to help you zip up?"

"Sure," I turn around so that she can zip up my dress which proves to be a little more difficult than usual by the waist, although she manages after a little bit of struggle, "Thanks." I say with a little embarrassment. I think I've gained almost ten pounds in five weeks.

"No problem." Amber smiles shyly before exiting.

I take the moment to myself to pull out my trunk from under my bed. I open it for the first time in two or three weeks and peer inside it. I scathe my thumb in apprehensive contemplation with my eyes fixed on the little groove of the interior lining. Next, I glance at the postcard that Dwight gave me and try to decide whether or not it's a good idea to tape it back up on the wall.

My head turns over my shoulder to view the vase Negan gave me back before I married him, that sits on the window seal with some wildflowers sticking out of it. I leave the postcard down on the folded shirt of his and decide not to stick it back up, or to pull out the ring. That way I don't have to deal with either man. I just have to deal with the one at the breakfast table.

 **...**

Breakfast is starting to get to me by noon, so I skip lunch and resolve to walk down the library to return Atonement. After thinking that I needed to ease up on the hot meals, I devoured four pancakes with butter and syrup, eggs and sausage, which I also poured syrup on and some coffee with milk and sugar. I think it was the rate at which I ate it all that was most embarrassing, especially with with an audience.

"Jesus," Negan commented, of course, "Anyone know the Heimlich just in case Nan chokes on her fruit?" Oh yeah, I also had some blueberries and an apple with syrup as well. Negan was a little short this morning which I guess, may be my fault, but hey, I didn't knee him on purpose.

Lillian's coughing is pretty bad today and she's still affronted by what happened the other day, even though she was the one that hit me. I peruse the shelves and pick up Northanger Abbey then leave Lillian to her work. Maybe it's because it's spring, but I swear everyone is in some type of frenzy. At least, whenever I stroll down the halls it seems that way, because there's a lot going on behind close doors. I'm constantly stopping short in the halls as a man or woman exits from different doors. Mark's come through that one woman's door once or twice. I know I shouldn't, but I'm often anxious every time I pass a door with a man's moan coming from the inside and maybe even relieved when I don't recognize said moaning.

It's unseasonably hot outside, but I sit on the shaded concrete steps as I have everyday since I spoke to Dwight here, until I get tired, hungry, or have to pee. One time, I left earlier than normal because Negan came out and told me I was blocking traffic, but he was just being an ass since there hadn't been anyone up or down the steps all day. Now and then, I peak through the railings at the fence workers, the guards, and the Saviors that walk by. When the guards change shifts, I let out an irritated sigh and decide to go inside.

On the fourth floor, I pass the infirmary and hear the door open not long after I do. I peer over my shoulder when I hear some sniffling. It's Marisol, one of the workers that Simon "visits" when he's in town. Laura's words a few weeks ago resound in my head and I know what her crying might be about. _Don't involve yourself; it's none of your business._

"Uh, excuse me?" I call out and she stops, giving me the up and down as she does. "Marisol, right?"

"Yes?" She answers with a tone that's neither rude, nor friendly.

I scratch my thumb. "Are you okay?"

Marisol looks at me skeptically. I never was a real warm and chatty person, so I suppose I understand her reservations. "I'm fine." She crosses her arms and starts to walk away.

"Was it positive?" The one good thing to come from being Negan's wife is that I have gotten a little ballsier.

Her eyes are the size of saucers when she whips her head my way. "What?"

"I, um, I know about Simon and how he..." I wince at what I'm about to say, "I know he...helps you sometimes and I know he doesn't always, uh, well you know..."

"Sorry?" She huffs sarcastically. "Is it really fair to judge me from where you stand?"

I put up my hands. "I'm not judging you at all," I clarify, " and I obviously understand. Things are rough."

She snorts. "Yeah, you look like you're in bad shape."

 _This is why you don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong._ "Are you pregnant?"

Marisol's expression changes into one more mild, but still standoffish. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing, it's just-"

"Then why are you asking me?" She interjects.

"Okay, you know what? Have a nice day." I head for the stairs, resolving not to care. _Why am I even trying to talk to her about it anyway?_

"Hey!" She catches up to me in the stairwell. "Hey, stop, please!" I look down at her desperate face. "I took a test and, yes, I am pregnant. The doctor thinks I'm about four or five weeks."

I don't know whether or not to say congratulations or sorry in this case. Laura said she thought Simon wouldn't be interested in supporting a woman he got pregnant and she's a worker who has to provide for herself and now a child. "What are you going to do?"

"I-I don't know," She stares up at me, "I don't know if I can look after a child and myself on points."

"I'm sorry." I bite my lip, briefly glancing up the staircase.

"Why did you ask?" Marisol asks me.

"I don't know."

She looks intently at me for a few seconds, before shaking her head. "I have to go back to work." She hurries down the stairs and leaves.

 **...**

At dinner, I pick at my food, upset at the conversation I had with Marisol. While focusing on the table, my eyes roll towards Negan's hands that hold a knife and fork. The other girls are chatting about something, I don't know; I'm not really paying attention. Negan's got a calm, yet hard look on his face as he eats; clearly still in a bad mood. I think I'm the only person in the room turning down the chicken, rosemary potatoes, and wild rice, which normally I would dig into, but I think the recent situation has got my stomach in knots. Negan finally speaks after being silent practically throughout the whole meal.

"What a real turn around from this morning, huh?" His tone is stony, but has some humor, "At breakfast, you were eating us out of house and home."

"I'm just not hungry." I retort. _In fact..._ I push my chair back and go to the bathroom and empty my stomach. I think I might be coming down with a stomach bug. After I rinse my mouth out and brush my teeth, I go to my room instead of back to the table.

An hour after dinner, I decide to go into the drawing room where the rest of the wives will be. As I do, I hear Negan with Hazel in his room which, I can't believe I'm saying this, kind of bugs me. Frankie asks if I'm alright and I nod as I paint Danica's nails in exchange for her repainting my toes. _God, he's so loud! Are we this loud?_ I hope not. I do not have feelings for Negan and I know he's going to be with his other wives, hell, that's what I wanted not long ago. However, what happened four or five nights ago, when he told me to go get another one for him after I wanted to leave really flared up the same insecurities and doubts that Sylvie ignited in the past.

Fifteen minutes later, both Hazel and Negan enter the drawing room a little disheveled and I can smell the salty sweat from where I'm sitting. Hazel just sits down next to Tonya nonchalantly and apparently is going to finish a card game they must have been playing before Negan requested her. Negan, on the other hand, has a smug grin across his face with the type of arrogance that, had there been another man in the room, would be rewarded with a high five. He saunters over to the bar where Danica and I are playing our own game.

"What are you ladies playing?" Negan breathes behind me as he pours himself a drink. "Deal me in."

"It's Gin," I answer, not looking at him, "and it's for two players."

"Who's winning?"

"Nan." Danica says, also not really paying him any mind either. Negan moves until he's behind her and peers over her shoulder at her cards. His whispers something in her ear and then she puts her cards down with a smile. "Gin!"

I look at her cards and see a straight flush. "How long have you had that hand?" I ask her.

"I guess for awhile," She smiles, "I've never played before."

I look over at Negan whose tongue glides across the inside of his devilish smile. "Did you tell her what my hand was?"

"No, and what the fuck does that matter?" He chuckles as he moves in between us. "She had a straight flush."

I glare back at him before taking my mug of spearmint tea that Tonya made to settle my stomach and get up from the stool. I go back to my room and sit down on my bed like a brat throwing a fit. Then, I reach my hand under my bed and drag my trunk out, lifting up the lid, and taking out my locket ring. I gingerly touch the opal oval that sits in the front part, contemplating whether or not I should open it. I glance at the calendar on Amber's wall and then decide to with a heavy sigh.

I stare at the two pictures for what feels like hours, only looking up every so often to make sure Amber or someone else doesn't come in. I smile to myself at the picture of Charlie and I when our apartment building caught fire one summer at three o'clock in the morning. The fire started on the floor below us and we had to be evacuate from the window and down the firescape. Thankfully, no one got hurt with the exception of a few second-degree burns, but Charlie's dad was working that night and nearly died of laughter that we were standing out the street in our underwear and so he took a picture. The other picture is of my grandparents and me at my fifth birthday on a carousel. Maybe it was because I was the their youngest grandchild that they were so doting of me, but it was a little hard to deny that for whatever reason, I was their favorite. My mom always said they were enablers for me whenever I needed a real kick in the ass from reality. Sometimes, now more than ever, I think she was right.

Amber doesn't come into the room until a little after midnight, which I know because I had gotten up to pee five minutes before she got in. She goes right to sleep, while I lay awake unable to read because I can't turn the light on. So, I just turn the ring between my fingers some more, before slipping it on my finger and closing my eyes.

 **...**

I don't go to breakfast two mornings later, because I overslept until eight- thirty, which never happens. I have been fatigued for the last couple days, which proves I'm not feeling good. When I do wake up, I feel groggy and sore like I'm hung over and I may take a bath later in the evening, although its a hassle for the workers. Marisol's problem resurfaces into my head and I don't know why, but I feel like I should try to help her.

I encourage myself to, once again, poke my nose where it doesn't belong and enter the mechanic's yard to look for her. I find her over by one of the military trucks we have, holding a flashlight over something so one other worker can see what he's doing. As I approach, her face grows morose and unwelcoming. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"I'm working," She reservedly answers, "I gotta earn my bread unlike some people." I scoff a little at her callous remark.

I lick my lips. "Well, I talked to Simon."

She glances at me and then hands the flashlight to another worker. "You did?" No, but I nod my head anyway. "Can you get me ten minutes?"

I motion for her follow me and when Cooper gives me a look, I smile coolly. "It's okay, I need her help with something. She'll be right back." Cooper nods and lets us go. We just step outside the garage like area.

"Okay," She whispers sharply, "Where do you get off talking to him about something that is none of your business?"

"I didn't, that was a lie," I confess which makes her turn around to leave, "Hey, wait a minute, I'm trying to help you!"

"Help me?" She looks at me with a sneer. "You're gonna get my points docked if I don't get back and I can afford for that to happen!"

"I know, I won't keep you long."

"What are you even doing here? You think it's funny messing with people, because you've got nothing better to do in your nice dress and shoes?"

"I'm not messing with you," The question of why I'm here keeps pounding in my head, "And just because I married-"

"Don't give me that 'things are rough all over' shit, alright?" Marisol looks me over and huffs. "I'm done being part of your entertainment."

"I am not toying with you!" I reassert. "I just want to help."

"Why? We aren't friends," She crosses her arms and shifts her weight on one leg, "Never were."

"I know we aren't and I don't know why I want to help you, but I do, okay? But if you don't need or want my help then I'll take the hint and go." I start to leave, but like the other day she stops me.

"Hang on," I turn around and listen, "What if I asked you to get me something? Would you?"

"Are you talking about the morning after pill?" I step closer to her for discretion. "Would that even work now?"

"Don't know, but I don't see why that matters to you." She retorts.

"It could hurt, or kill you." I state, thinking about how Sharon died after having a miscarriage.

"I don't know if I'll even take it, but I can't afford it because my points are a little low and I'd at least like to have the option," She clears her throat to hold in her apparent emotions, "Look, Simon already told me when I first started...hanging out with him that he never wanted kids before the world fell apart and certainly didn't want them now. And he sure as hell ain't gonna change his mind, that one blond broad is a clear example of that."

"Blonde broad?" My brows collect in the middle.

"Laura," Marisol scoffs at my shocked face expression, "Anyway, it's a lot to handle on my own, earning points and all that, so I'd like to have another choice."

"You could rank up." I suggest but she snorts at that.

"No, thank you," We both look over at Cooper after he whistles for her to get back to work, "Some of us don't want that on their conscience, social climber." This girl is razor sharp.

I scowl at being called a social climber, but don't leave. "I don't know if I can get you what you want without Negan finding out. I have to sign my name, too."

"Well, then have a nice day." She sighs, going back to her work. Damn.

 **...**

As I navigate through the factory to go back upstairs, I catch a glimpse of Dwight walking toward the stairs to probably go to his room. I hurry a little to catch up to him, even though I know I shouldn't. Right as I'm about to, Laura comes into sight and waves me down. _Fuck!_

"Hey, I haven't seen you in awhile," She smiles, " I thought you said you were going to come hang with me still."

"Yeah, sorry. I've been...busy." _Doing what?_ Marisol's words sort of make me not want to look Laura in the eye, if what she said was true. I feel like an idiot, because Laura basically tried to confide in me that one time and I let her down because I'm a shitty friend.

"Well, I'm taking the night shift for one of the guards at the gate tonight and then I have to go on a pick up tomorrow that'll probably get back late, but how about the day after tomorrow?" Laura raises her brows.

"Yeah, alright," I smile at her, "See ya then, I guess."

"You bet." She then strides off in some direction, while I go back toward the stairs.

I climb the stairs that'll put me on the catwalk that will put me on the second floor. Negan's voice can be heard on my left, so I turn my head to follow the sound of his excited talking. I know I'm coming down with something, but I can feel all the color leave my complexion when I see him speaking with Dwight. Every decreased step I take, I pray that they'll depart before I make it over there but as the universe hates me for my horrible decisions, that doesn't happen. Instead, Negan spots me and his smile widens into something that can't be good for either Dwight or myself.

"Hello there, wife!" He gloats when I'm close enough, making Dwight turn around and look me straight in the eye. _Kill me now._ "What sort of shit are you up to, sweetheart?"

"I was reading quietly somewhere." I say with eyes still more fixed on Dwight.

Negan snakes an arm over my shoulder and plants a kiss on my temple. "This girl is a real prize, Dwighty boy," He chuckles, "Always front and center when I come a-callin!" I avert my eyes from Dwight, ashamed. "Maybe I should marry every girl you manage to scrape up, 'cause you certainly know how to pick pussy."

"I'm going up." I push his arm off me and turn.

"I'll go with you, sweetheart," Negan says behind me, "Catch ya later, D. I'm gonna go see if it's possible to fit both tits in my mouth at the same time." I pick up the pace after that mortifying addition.

 _How dare him!_ It's bad enough to hear him say those things to me on a regular basis, but how dare he dangle me in front of Dwight. _How dare you let him._ Dwight, the person who goes above and beyond to prove himself, only to be repaid with vulgar taunts. When I hear his footsteps closer behind me, I just about jog to the stairwell. My legs burn with the aching of hurrying up the stairs to try and get away from him. By the time I'm up at the top, I have to put a hand on the wall to keep from going down on my knees. The stairwell door opens behind me two minutes after and Negan doesn't seem to be at all out of breath like me.

"Shit, woman," He throatily laughs as he holds my other arm, "Don't keel over out of eagerness to get back up here."

I pant, as I look at his obnoxious face that I just want to smack. _Remember why you're here_. "Is that what you want?"

"I am feeling a little frisky," Negan sensually tucks hair behind my ear and then leans close, "But I think I'm gonna go ask Frankie to spend the night with me instead."

I stare at him like with an expression of discomfort and confusion. _What's his game?_

 **...**

 _"Watch is almost over," I note, looking at Charlie's watch, "Jessa and Henry should be coming to relieve us anytime soon."_

 _"Mhm." He replies while reading Jane Eyre._

 _"Wanna fool around when we get off?" I tease, thinking he's not really paying attention._

 _"Mhm, sure."_

 _"And then you can lock me in the attic and go flirt with that whore of a governess." I smile._

 _"Whatever my darling desires," He looks up at me with a smile, "I am listening, you smart ass."_

 _"Well, I was just getting jealous that you were so enthralled by Jane."_

 _Charlie holds the book up. "This is actually pretty good."_

 _"Told you so, you-"I stop when a blood-curdling scream hits the night. We both whip our heads around to the west side of our camp. A whistle pierces the air behind me._

I flinch as that horrible whistle bounces off the tiles in the bathroom. I bring my pruny hands up to my eyes and rub them as Negan comes over to the bathtub where I lie in cool water.

"What were you fucking dropped on your head as a kid?" He sits on the rim of the bathtub. "It's really fucking stupid to fall asleep in the tub." His voice is irked again, like it had been before. _Why is he so pissy lately?_

"I wasn't sleeping," I lie, "And even if I was, wouldn't I just wake up when I slipped beneath the water?"

Negan dips a hand in the water, swirls it around, and then flicks water in my face. "Don't be a shit-for- brains idiot, Anna."

"How do you know my actual name? I never said my name is Anna." Now that I think about it, I never told Dwight that either, though he never called me Anna.

"I asked Reed," He explains, "When I saw a new set of initials I've never seen before on the logs. 'A.H.'"

I mouth an 'oh' and then look for my towel, which he has in his hands. Negan opens it up and motions for me to stand to get out of the tub. "Where's Frankie?"

"Jealous?" Negan chuckles, wrapping the towel around me.

"No," I hold the towel against me, "Why?"

"Because you like me more than I think you want to admit," He retorts, "And I like the sex after I mess with you. I was kind of hoping we were gonna have some angry fucking going on after we got back up here, but apparently not."

I think about Dwight and how he must of felt. "I don't like being used to messed with people."

"That's what men do, Nan," He laughs, "We bust each other's balls."

I lightly dry myself with my back turned to him. "Well, leave me out of it."

"Dwight doesn't care," Negan lazily circles the tub until he's facing me, "He confirmed what you said earlier."

I look up. "What was that?"

He takes my hand, tugging me to him. "That you were fun, but nothing special," He inspects the ring on my finger, "May I?"

I pull my hand away from him. "I need to ask you a favor."

His eyes look more seriously upon me. "What sort of favor? Besides having everything you need provided for you without having to work for it?"

"I have a friend who needs some medicine she can't afford."

"Is she hot?" He laughs.

"She only needs it once," I scowl before softening my features, "Please."

"No. Well, I don't know...maybe," Negan squints his eyes at me. "What do I get in return?"

"Whatever you want." I reply. _Doesn't he already get whatever he wants anyway?_

"Whatever I want, huh?" His smile grows.

* * *

 **Here's the earlier, shorter chapter as promised before I go on spring break. Hope it's not too boring, but I didn't want to introduce anything too exciting in a shorter chapter. However, what may seem like trivial, unimportant occurrences in this chapter will have a point in the future.**

 **Thanks for all the kind reviews! I enjoyed reading your theories and feedback! I may come back and respond to those in the future, but right now, I am not at liberty to say.**

 **BabyMiles: You're right! I myself am tattooed and have had similar conversations within others on this subject. I think I overlooked that when I was editing late at night, my bad lol! Thanks for pointing that out, also I am familiar with stick and poke tattoos, just not with a contraption like the one my Saviors made lol. Glad you enjoy story!**


	26. Truth Hurts

This morning I flinch awake, but not for the usual reason. I startle when I feel something that turns out to be a finger tracing across my forehead. When I open my eyes, I jump again when I realize it's him. His smile is calm and I hardly expect it to stay that way once he opens his mouth to speak. Remembering what transpired here last night, I shyly look over to the previously occupied space on the other side of him.

"She left," Negan says with a husky voice, "just you and me, sweetheart." His hand dips down under the blanket to caress my skin in a manner that's more like light groping.

"I should go, too." I rasp as his hand gently squeezes the back of my thigh.

"What's the rush, Nanette?" He smirks, inching himself closer to me while using one hand as a stand for his head, "It's twenty to five; we can get somewhere in that amount of time."

I roll onto my back with a groan, bringing my arm to my forehead. "Don't you ever tire out?"

He chuckles. "Not when there's a pretty girl in my bed that never ceases to amaze me." Negan slides his hand up to one of my breasts.

"I'm not the only wife of yours with smaller breasts." I claim when his hand lingers too long.

"No, but you could be the chapter president of the itty bitty titty committee. That's why I had Danica join us."

 _Don't say it._ "Dwight didn't seem to mind them." I arch my brow, moving his hand away.

Negan's eyes squint as they scan my face. His smile grows. "That's because Dwight was use to bee stings. Ever take a gander at Sherry's?"

"Can't say that I did." I try to pull the covers back up, but he tugs them right back down.

"Did you and D ever add another gal into the mix?" Negan lets his hand go back to traipsing all over my flesh. "Or, hell, another man?"

I take his hand and move it off me. "No and I don't want to talk about him."

He prevents me from taking my hand away. "How about the looker in here?" Negan goes to open the ring on my finger, but I manage to slip my hand away.

"No." I sit up and look over at the calendar that sits flat on Negan's dresser.

"I'm only asking, because you certainly fuckin' knew what you were doing last night," He touches my back, "I mean, goddamn, I fuckin' blew a load just watching."

"I've been with women before."

Now Negan sits up and cranes his head to meet my eyes. "Are you shittin' me?" His voice has an annoying streak of excitement.

"No," I furrow my brows when he raises his, "If I like someone, I don't care what gender they are."

Negan puts an arm over to the other side of me as he shifts his body towards me. "You are shaping up to be my new favorite." He snickers before planting his mouth on mine.

I maneuver my head away. "Who was your favorite before?"

"I don't know...Sherry." He answers before grazing my neck with his stubble.

"Really?"

He gently pushes me down and his warm upper half presses against mine. "Mhm, sure."

"How come?" I ask, ignoring his attempt to heat things up.

"She was a bad liar like you."

I put a hand on his chest and he gazes down at me. "What does that mean?"

Negan smiles like a son of bitch and I feel his leg merge between mine. "She acted like she didn't like me, especially in front of other people, but once we we're alone...she was a tiger in the sack. Don't worry, I like you better. You got a way."

I turn my face from his when he tries to kiss me. "I don't really want to right now."

He snickers. "There's nothing wrong with liking me, baby," I glare up at him, "I'm good to you, aren't I?" He kisses my jaw wantonly. "Never leave you unsatisfied."

I inch my body out from under his. "I did what you wanted," I tell him as he rolls onto his back, "So can my friend have the medicine she needs?"

"What is it?" He puts his hands behind his head.

"Private."

"Actually, it fuckin' isn't," Negan's tone grows a little sharper, "She's getting it for free and she ain't even married to me. Apparently, it's something you were willing to have a threesome for and boy, did you stand and deliver." His teasing laughter brings about a sense of shame in me. How awkward is it going to be between Danica and me now?

I sigh heavily. "It's for a urinary tract infection," I look at his furrowing brows, "You should tell your men to bathe probably if they're going to be sexually active." _Gross._

Negan chuckles. "I'll give a public service announcement on dick washing first thing after breakfast," I roll my eyes at his sarcasm, "Take her to Harlan to take the meds."

"Why?"

He takes my arm and pulls me to him. "Because those are the rules," He slides my ring off my finger despite my attempt to free my hand," And because I said fucking so. Don't think rules don't apply to you, because I like what you do with your mouth."

I cringe and then reach my other hand over for the ring, but he extends it out beyond my grasp. "Please." I softly ask.

"I'm gonna hang on to this, sweetheart, until I hear from the doctor personally that you obeyed the rules." I reluctantly get off the bed without trying to use sex to get my ring back, knowing it won't work. As much as he always seems to be willing, Negan, like Dwight, is smart enough to pick up on when he's being had. I collect my stuff off the floor by end of his bed and head for the door. "Nan," I look over at him as I open the door, "She doesn't have to pay for it, but I still want it on the books."

 **...**

At breakfast, Danica and I don't really make eye contact. There's a sort of quietness in the room that comes from all the other wives knowing what happened last night between Negan, Danica, and myself. Danica agreed to our three way, which was what Negan wanted in exchange for allowing Marisol meds for free, but I could see afterwards she may have regretted it. Evidently, a three way is something Negan had not yet convinced any of the wives to participate in until last night. I think most people downstairs would be surprised and maybe disappointed.

Personally, it wasn't my first time. I had done it once before with Sylvie and her neighbor back in Barcelona. Still, it feels uncomfortable because Danica is clearly embarrassed which makes me feel like I've wronged her. When Negan enters the dining room, I leave my untouched breakfast and exit to go find Marisol.

She's in the mechanic's yard, about to get to work, when I walk over to her. She rolls her eyes and looks over at Cooper who's busy with another matter. "What is it this time?"

I also look over my shoulder at Cooper before answering lowly. "I can help you, if you still want me to."

Marisol's fiery expression drops and she steps closer to me. "Are you serious? How?"

"I can get you the pill, but you have to come with me to the infirmary. That's the only way Negan'll let it happen."

"Negan?" She looks almost fearful. "He knows?"

I shake my head. "No, no, I told him you had a UTI and I didn't use your name, but you have to take it in the infirmary because-"

"It's the rules." She completes with a huff. She puts her hand on her forehead and after a moment, she sighs. "Okay, fine."

After telling Cooper that she'll be back, the two of us go silently inside to the infirmary. We spend most of the walk without talking and Marisol follows behind me with her arms crossed against her stomach. As we get to the second floor, past Hal's door and Dwight's, there's a small sound of conversation going on in Laura's room.

"What?" Marisol asks when I slow down and listen.

"Nothing." I blush and keep walking. She looks at me funny, but I don't take it to heart since I know this is weird for both of us. We don't really know each other, but I still butted into her personal life. We're down the hall from the infirmary when Marisol stops.

"I don't know if I should do this," She brings a hand up to her stomach, "I thought about what you said."

"What did I say?"

"That I could get hurt...or die." Marisol starts to lollygag towards the infirmary and I hesitate before doing the same.

"So, why are we still going to the infirmary?"

"Because maybe I want another option..." She trails off in thought.

"What other option?"

We stop right at the door. "The doctor, Harlan, he said he delivered babies before..."

"...You're thinking of keeping it?" I don't mean to sound so taken back, but I am.

"I could always pick up other jobs, learn how to do more shit to earn more points," She puts her hands on the handle of the door, "If my mom could raise two kids on her own, so can I, right?"

"The situation's a little different," I point out, but I feel bad when she seems discouraged, "but it's possible."

Marisol nods and opens the door where we find the doctor sitting at his desk. He turns in his swivel chair and smiles at Marisol.

"Hello again," He stands up and puts his hand out to her, "I hope you're doing well."

"Fine, thanks." Marisol shakes his hand.

He then looks at me, briefly glancing at my attire before putting out his hand to me as well. "Good morning, ma'am."

 _Ugh, don't call me ma'am just because I'm married to Negan!_ "Good morning, I'm Nan."

"Harlan Carson," He shakes my hand, "Nice to meet you." _Carson?_ Harlan draws his attention back to Marisol. "So, what can I do for you?"

Marisol looks at me and then at the floor. "Um, well I-I think," She breathes and straightens up, "I wanted to know if we had any vitamins that I could take for the baby." The way she went from uncertain to fearless in an instant is pretty admirable.

Harlan nods before going to the cabinet. "I think we have some prenatal vitamins," he crouches down to inspect the very bottom of the shelves, "they don't seem to be the chewable kind, which means they will probably be big and hard to swallow."

I clear my throat to get rid of a laugh. I might be spending too much time with Negan. _Get it together._

"Least of my problems." She mutters.

"Here you go." He stands up and reads the bottle. Harlan looks over at me. "One a day, what's the most I can give her to take back to her quarter?"

"Seven," I inform, "She'll have to come back each week." Vitamins are the only thing here, besides band aids in the commissary, that workers are allowed to have in their quarters, but only in weekly doses.

"Okay." He sighs as he opens the bottle and hands her seven chalky looking tablets. He gets her some water to drink one down, then looks me over. "Would you like anything?"

I'm bewildered. "No, I'm fine, thank you."

Harlan asks Marisol if she'd like to do regular check ups to help keep track of everything and after they settle all that, I tell him to put the vitamins down as one dose of antibiotics because that's what Negan wants. But mostly to cover my tracks, because he's going to be looking for antibiotics on the log. Both her and I leave shortly after.

"Um," Marisol clears her throat, "thanks for...helping me."

"No problem."

"No, I really appreciate it." She insists. "I still don't know why you helped me, though."

"Maybe it's how I mess with people." I claim acridly.

"Oh, shit, I'm really sorry for being such a bitch earlier," She embarrassingly chuckles, "especially for the cracks at you being..."

"It's fine, really." My new tattoo is starting to itch, so I lightly scratch around it. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, are you going to be okay when Simon comes back and finds out?" I heard Negan say two days ago that Simon might need to come back soon for something.

"Uh, yeah, I think so." Her response sounds a little less confident. "He probably won't even acknowledge it's his, even though he knows I haven't slept with anyone here except him. Too bad. I, uh, liked him." She glances over at my face. "Not like that, but...he's not so...bad when we were alone."

"Okay." I nod, but I don't think I understand how she could "like" Simon. I figured her and the other worker who slept with him for perks were both in it for strictly that.

"Well, I gotta go back to work," Marisol grins politely which is a first, "thanks again."

"Sure. If you need anything-"

"Yeah, thanks." She waves and then walks off to the stairwell. I look over at the clock on the wall and decide to turn around.

 **...**

"Hey!" I jump at the sound of Hal's stern voice. "Move it along riff- raff!" I smile as he approaches with a towel slung over his shoulders. "I don't like shifty people hanging around my door."

"You're lucky you came in time," I play along, "I was about to pick the lock and clean the place out."

Hal laughs at me. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering how you were?" I have to force away a smile, but he catches it.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," He demands, "What do you want?"

"Are you making _friends_ with anyone?" I smile, but it instantly fades and Hal turns around. "Hi."

"Hey." Dwight flippantly greets us both as he walks by.

I give Hal a look and he shakes his head warningly. "I wouldn't." I would.

When I turn down the hall, I see Dwight hasn't made it to this room yet. "D!" I pick up the pace. He stops, turns around, and I suddenly don't know what to do or say. "I...um, how are you?"

"Fine." He continues down the hallway, as do I.

"Hey, listen," It's really hard to keep up in heels with sore feet, "I'm sorry for-"

"I gotta go." He bluntly cuts me off. Before I can utter another syllable, he opens his door and basically slams it behind him. _Shit._ I linger for a minute by the door and try to count to five to build up the courage to knock, but another person comes down the hall so I back away. It's Davy, so I really have to go.

"Nice legs, sugar tits," He smirks, "Don't walk 'em into trouble, now."

I glance quickly at Dwight's door before flipping him off. "Fuck you." I head to the stairwell, knowing he won't pursue me because I have golden status. I do hear him mutter "cunt" which only makes me chuckle under my breath.

 **...**

Later on in the night, after dinner which Negan did not attend, I decide that after reading Pride and Prejudice for most of the day; that I was going to try my hand at embroidery again. Frankie likes to knit and has a basket filled with not only knitting needles and yarn, but also other sewing crap, so I took what she said she didn't use.

Negan comes in an hour or so later, grabs a beer, and then has a seat between Hazel and I on the sofa, hoisting his boots up on the table. "Whatcha doing, sweet wife?" He leans over to peek.

"Embroidery." I sigh, continuing to stitch in and out of the cloth that's held down by the loop.

"Isn't that an old lady hobby?" He chuckles when I shrug. "What's it gonna say? Bone sweet bone?"

I set it on my lap and look at him. "Want it to?"

"Yes, ma'am," Negan plays with my ponytail, "maybe stitch a..." He gestures with his index finger and the 'o' he made with the other hand.

I snicker through my nose. "I'll see what I can do."

My words only encourage him. "Maybe ours?" He moves until his mouth is basically touching my ear. "Just make sure you're accurate." He lustfully kisses my neck below my ear.

I shift in my seat a little, oddly turned on by his ridiculous, childish words. "I did what you said and made sure my friend went to the infirmary to take the meds." He reclines and looks at me. "And Harlan documented it."

"And?"

"Can I have my-"

"You know what?" Negan stands up and strides on over to Tonya, putting his hand out for her. "Hold that thought, darlin'. Tonya and I are gonna spend some time together." And just like that, they're gone and I hate it.

I lie in bed twenty minutes later, despising that I felt something like desire at Negan's dirty talk and that I didn't like him putting me off for someone else. I'm not jealous, just disappointed. I feel like every time there's a ray of possibility that I can cope with my choice, be it through Stockholm Syndrome, or just by giving him a chance; he does this and I can't tell if it's on purpose. Most times, I think it's just his selfish, careless disregard for other people's feelings.

The sounds of him and Tonya can sort of be heard from down the hall. I let my mind wander to earlier in the day when I saw Dwight. I can't say that I blame him for closing the door in my face, after what Negan said the other day and how I lied to him. It's bad enough having to think about his late wife being with Negan, but now a second woman he was with. I may not have been someone special to him, but still...

I can't help but to recall when we reconciled after I came back from Alexandria. That was probably the best I had with him. How he was so good to me, even after I used Sherry to poke at him earlier in the day and sort of called him impotent. And even after that off the wall, stupid thing I did with my underwear, he laid his head down on me and slept.

It won't make me feel better, but I quietly stick my hand down between my legs as I lay on my side, facing the wall. I close my eyes with a heavy sigh and ignore Amber's snoring as I think about Dwight.

 **...**

The next day, I wait until Negan returns from whatever it is he was doing all morning to confront him about my ring. He's in the drawing room, sitting on one of the bar stools and eating a sandwich.

I tap on his shoulder to get him to turn around. "Can I talk to you?"

"About?" He asks while chewing.

"My ring you took yesterday morning," I fiddle with the finger on my right hand where it was, "I obeyed the rules like you told me to, so I'd like the ring back...please."

Negan sniffs casually while taking another bite of his sandwich. "Sorry, I gave it to Tonya."

" _What?_ " I frantically scan the room for her.

His mouth is closed, but he still throatily chuckles before swallowing. "Calm the hell down, I'm kidding."

I whip my eyes back to him, not amused. "Let me have it, please."

He twists his upper half to look behind him and glides his tongue across his top row of teeth. "Play me a song."

I glance at the piano. "I want my ring."

"I took it," Negan chews, "so, technically it's _my_ ring and if I'm going to give it to you, I fucking want something in exchange."

"But you said you'd give it back to me, if I followed the rules." My cheeks are starting to warm up with anger.

"You were gonna follow the fuckin' rules either way." He wipes his face with a napkin.

"We had a deal."

"Did we shake on it?"

I take a deep breath. "No, but-"

"Then we didn't have a fucking deal, did we?" Negan smiles.

"So, you lied?"

"Might have," He stands, towering over me, "Go tickle the ivories and maybe later you can tickle something else." He winks and then laughs when I put my hand out. "And I'll trade you the ring back, Jesus." He shakes my hand.

I want to stick to my guns and argue this with him, but I know it'd be futile, so I walk over to the bench and pull it out to sit. Negan comes over as well and lifts a leg over to straddle the bench, facing me.

"What do you want me to play?" I look up at him with burning eyes.

"Surprise me, but no fuckin' quickies."

I delicately sweep my hands over the keys while trying to figure out what to play that wouldn't be considered a "quickie." I think about all the songs I can play without sheet music. After a some thought, I begin to play Chelsea Hotel No. 2, which proves to be difficult with another, domineering person on the bench.

I don't know how long he wants me to play, so I resign to play until the song ends or until he says to stop. The melancholy song use to be one of Charlie's favorites and he's been on my mind a lot lately since the quick approaching date. He use to hum or sing it to himself randomly, usually when he was working on something, or driving the truck. Sometimes, he would hum it while we lay in bed together.

But after last night, my mind can't help but to switch to Dwight. When he kicked me out of his room that we shared for less than two days, which I suppose was maybe the right thing to do. It was, right? _He should've fought for you._ No, I should've been honest with him and tried to mend things, instead of slithering back to the shade I'm so accustom to. _You both were wrong. Everything about that whole fiasco was wrong._ When the song comes to a close, I'm almost to the point of tears but I fight them down. I don't think everything was wrong...

Clapping in the background convinces me to timidly chuckle and blush a bit. I couple my hands in my lap, glancing through the side of my eye at Negan. He's silent, but only for a moment before sighing and then pulling down the fallboard.

"That was good." He finally, somberly praises.

I tilt my head his way, gazing into his subdued eyes. "Thanks." He just curiously stares back at me for what feels like forever, until he abruptly stands up and I do the same. "Hey, wait!"

"What?" His tone is suddenly rigid like it had been a few days ago.

"My ring," I disincline my brazen voice when he turns around, "I played you a song for it."

Negan knits his brows at me and I think I see something I've never seen before in his face, but I can't determine what exactly it is. He reaches into the pocket of his pants and then rudely flicks it at me. It falls onto the floor outside his room, which he enters while I squat down to pick it up.

Fuck! It dropped just right and whatever Hal used to fix the ring must have popped out. It's broken again. Something comes over me and I scoop the ring up in my hand and then barge into his room to give him a piece of my mind. However, upon entering, I'm halted by the sight of him sitting on the end of the bed, looking down on the floor with his hands clasped together.

"Get out." He commands with a tense lowness. As much as it would be wise to do as he says, I don't because I'm still pissed. I close the door behind me. "I said get the fuck out!" He booms.

"You broke my ring!" I shout back, but really only out of nervousness at his startling yell. I hold my hand up, so he can see what he did. "You're such a...asshole!"

Negan stands up and stalks over to me at an alarming rate and takes the ring from my hand before I can close it. "You're lucky I don't just take the fuckin' thing and melt it down for my dead fucks on the fence!"

Tears betray me as I grab his arm. "No, don't!"

"But not before I pop the pictures out and let them burn first!" He chuckles cruelly, but I can hear the lack of humor in his threat.

"Stop, I'm sorry!" My knees buckle and I let myself fall on them to floor, covering my face with my hands. I take deep breaths that keep trying to shallow and all I can hear is that in the silent room.

"Fucking get up," Negan orders after a seconds, "Get. Up."

I lift my head from my hands with quiet tears streaming down my face. I look up at him and then immediately feel a ton of shame being on my knees like this. Moving one leg out from under me, I put my hand on my knee and pick myself up. I can't make eye contact with him, so I turn my head away. "Please, can I have it back?" The pleading sound I make has my stomach in queasy knots.

Negan reaches out, irritably taking my hand, and enclosing the two halves of ring in my palm. When he doesn't take his hand away, my eyes meet his. I'm still breathing agitatedly as I watch and wait for him to either make some sort of threat, or asshole remark. Instead, he sighs, depleted. "Hell, look...I'm sorry."

"It's fine...I know someone who can maybe fix it." I croak bitterly.

Negan steps a little closer, leaning down until our lips are neighbors. His eyes are lowered, no longer seeing mine. "I'm sorry."

"Okay." I murmur, confused by his regretful tone. When his lips touch mine, I close in for a kiss that I figured would end just as soon as it started, but it doesn't. With my ring held firm in my fist, I let him pull me in.

We stand in that one spot, going at his pace, which is unusually slower and more sensual than normal. He moves his hands down the back of me in a gentle manner, until he reaches the hems of my dress, which he steadily hoists up to my stomach. Negan's hands crawl all over my skin as we continue to make out. After a while, his hands rest on my ribs and he steps backwards, taking me with him.

Once we're at the bed, he rotates us and picks me up briefly just to toss me on the bed. I start to take down my underwear, one hand still clasped around my ring, as he stands back to undo his knife belt and then the belt to his pants. I bring my heeled feet up on the edge of the bed as he works his way between them. My eyes close as he puts his mouth down on mine and enters me.

 **...**

The small rectangular window that sits above the pane of rowed, glass squares, lets in a temperate breeze that travels all the way over to the bed. Negan and I lay there, now fully naked with nothing but sheets to veil us. I'm still concealing my ring in the hand that's resting on my chest.

Negan is quiet. His eyes are closed, but I know he's not asleep because his hand is rubbing his brow. I'm not sure what just happened, or what washed over me that lead to whatever we did. Whatever the case, I report that I wasn't entirely there for it. I'd like to say that I tried to block Dwight from my mind, but I couldn't and didn't. But what had been started wasn't initially related to him at all and that's what troubles me.

"How's the ink?" Negan breaks the silence, taking my arm and examining the back of my elbow.

"Not infected," I eye him as he looks it over, "It's healing up." He lets my arm go, but only after he bring me closer to him. "How's your wrist?" I put a finger on his wrapped wrist, which he moves away.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," Negan tucks hair behind my ear as I lie on my stomach, "open your hand."

I glance at my fist and shake my head. "No," I don't falter at the look he gives me, "You're just gonna take it again."

He laughs, taking my fist in his hand, "I just want to see, c'mon open up." With distrusting eyes on him, I open my hand, exposing the broken memento. "Who are they?"

"My grandparents," I answer, half expecting some joke coming, "I was five here." _Don't._

Negan plucks it up from my hand. "Cool your fuckin' jets, I'm just looking." I grimace as he brings the half between his fingers up to his eyes for a closer inspection. "You were a cute kid. What happened?" He laughs under me and wraps an arm around me when I try to move away. "Take a goddamn joke once in a while, you uptight fuck!"

I take the piece from his hand and as I do, he snatches up the other half. "Negan!" I push myself up to reach over him and grab the ring. "Please, give it back!"

"What are you willing to do for it?" He taunts.

"I played the piano for you!"

"And I provide a living for you." Negan's words make me stop and look down is disbelief.

"Yeah, and I married you and have sex with you for that reason," I sit back on my knees, "So, you don't get use that line every fucking time, because I think I earn my living more often than not."

He just chuckles. "Look at you. You're mighty fuckin' brave talking to me like that."

I glare at him. "You can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

Negan's eyes survey my face and he smiles. "Say the magic word."

"I already did."

"Say it again. Nicely, like fucking you mean it."

We stare at each other, neither one of us wanting to break, but I know I have to in order to get what I want. I huff with reddening cheeks, softening my face. "Please, Negan. Can I have the ring back?"

His smile spreads, victorious. "Nope."

 _Damn him!_ My eyes get a little watery at his teasing since apparently I'm a crybaby nowadays. "Forget it." I slide myself out of the bed, taking my garments from the floor and putting them on.

"Holy hell, do you ever take a joke?"

"You always go too far." I numbly say, dressing with my back turned.

" _Too far?_ " Negan mocks with a scoff. "Don't be so damn sensitive."

"I'm not being sensitive!" I snap, searing at him over my shoulder. "I can take a joke, but all you ever do is fucking prod me, like you do with everyone else, knowing fully well that we're not going to throw it right back at you!" He stares half- seriously at me. "Just fucking forget it!"

I frustratingly tug the dress pass my hips and don't ask him to zip it for me. Snatching up my shoes, wiping boiling tears with the back of my hand; I pad furiously to the door. "Nan." He sighs, and when I ignore him, "Anna!" I stop before opening the door, scowling at him. "Come here."

I go barefoot over to the bed and he holds out the other part of my ring, dropping it in my receiving hand. I stare at the two halves in my palm and then back at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Thank you."

"Sit down," He motions to the empty side of the bed, "I didn't fuckin' mean to...hurt your feelings or whatever."

"I'm fine." I think Dwight and I have that in common. Always fine, but not really.

"He was, uh...pretty special, huh?" His eyes look at my hand.

I glimpse at him, unsure, before nodding and then stare at Lucille resting against the dresser. "Yeah."

"He died?"

"Obviously." I curtly answer.

"How?" Negan's question has my brows furrowing.

"...Sepsis."

"Damn," His reply sounds genuine, which puzzles me, "He turn?" I nod in response. "Did you put him down?"

I note the red heart on my ankle that blurs with tears. "No," I sniff, "Someone else had to. I couldn't do it." Yet another way I let him down. Negan's quiet again, so I turn my body to find what I think is a sympathetic face. "I know, I was weak."

"I didn't say that." He sits up; bringing some of the sheets up around his waist, and leaning against the headboard.

"His birthday is in two days." _Don't._

"The twelfth?" He peculiarly inquires.

"Yeah," I analytically give him the up and down, " He would have been twenty-nine."

"How long were you together?" Negan's hand touches my thigh, but not as a sexual proposition.

"Four or five years," I answer, letting him rub my leg, "but..." _Stop it._

"But?"

 _He'll just use it against you._ "I wasn't good to him."

"...What do you mean by that?"

"I..." Even after all this time, it's still hard to admit it out loud. Still, I sigh, "I, um, cheated on him. A bunch of times."

"You took him for granted." Negan claims, almost accusatory, but the way he says it bewilders me. I flicker my eyes to the side and realize that he's not looking at me.

"I didn't take him for granted," I argue, which gets his attention from the dresser, "I loved him and I never second guessed that."

Negan scoffs and raises his brow. "So much so that you fuckin' stepped out on him."

"I made mistakes."

"It ain't a fucking mistake if you do it over and over again," He counters, taking his hand off my leg and laying back down with his hands pillowing his head, "It's no accident to suck dick that isn't your boyfriend's."

I laugh in disgust. "It wasn't another man."

Negan whistles. "Damn! Well, excuse me, sweetheart, but you still didn't mistakenly sit on some other girl's fucking face."

"Okay, you know what?" I spin myself completely around to face his lax expression. "I know I was a shitty person, alright? I don't need you to sit on your high horse and tell me what I already know. And I'm not going to try and explain my situation to someone who doesn't understand."

"Oh, I understand," He earnestly states, "I just don't like fucking excuses, which is sure as shit what you're trying to blow up my ass." My cheeks billow again at his dry truth. "Whatever you have to say about why you did it is probably just a crock of shit. No one can make you cheat on someone, Nan. You either have it in you, or you don't. Better people usually don't."

I stare at him, before I break down and sniff away tears that come anyway. "I know."

Negan rolls his eyes and makes a groaning sound of annoyance. "Jesus fucking Christ, quit with the fuckin' water works." I try, but my sobbing increases and so does his loss of patience. "If you're gonna keep that shit up, feeling sorry for yourself, you can get the fuck out and send someone else in."

"I'm sorry." My wall is practically crumbling at this point, he's broken a good sized chunk from me and don't even think he was trying to. Not like he'd mind anyway.

"Truth hurts don't it?" His lazy, yet sharp comment causes me to cry more, but I manage to get some control over myself.

"Do you want me to leave?" I rasp with wet eyelashes and a nearly running nose.

Negan smiles. "Are you gonna cry some more?" I shake my head. "Then, no, you can stay."

 _Leave._ I stand on my knees to slide the dress back off. "I think I'm coming down with something." I speculate out of nowhere.

"You meant going down on something, right?" He laughs in this throat as he pulls me onto him. "Go see the doctor tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"Stop crying," He insists, wiping my cheek, "You made bad choices in the past. All that matters is the choices we make now, right? A new world, a new fuckin' chance to do better."

I nod, backing under the sheets that he's thrown over me. His hand glides to my head from over the thin, luxurious fabric.

 **...**

I sit on my bed, cross- legged and tapping my pen against my knee. After leaving Negan's bedroom some four hours ago, he's ready to go again, but called Amber in there.

For what I presume to be a lapse of judgment, I thought for a split second he was going to be truly kind to me and that I wouldn't feel like one these levers on the pen I'm holding that exposes a new color of ink when pressed. I know, stupid to think that I could actually find a level of understanding with my husband, right? It did seem like he understood, hell, he said he did. But then, he completely sledged- hammered into my already cracked wall.

Rolling my shoulders back, I focus more on my blank pad of paper with the design of writing a note to Dwight, despite my common sense telling me it would be extremely stupid. I taped the postcard back up on the wall. Negan doesn't know where I got it and I scarcely think he'll even notice to ask. Our little, painful chat made me realize that all I told him was what I should have told Dwight. Maybe if I had...

I put the pen to paper :

 _Please, as soon as you become aware that it's me who wrote this, please don't crumple it up and throw it away without reading it. Although, I highly recommend that you do burn this after reading. You probably don't remember this, because it was said on the night you were drunk, but you told me that you didn't know how to keep yourself from fucking things up with me. You said that it was your fault that we were always butting heads. Well, you claimed that it was my fault, sometimes, because I'm a bitch that you didn't want to be around, but that was the very reason you gave as to why you wanted to come back with me. You didn't want to be alone. Anyway, you went on to say that you wished you didn't want to be with me; that it made you think about Sherry and how it felt like some type of betrayal. But you believed that it was still better, what you meant by better was something you couldn't even describe, however you said it was when we were alone that you felt that way. You also said, "I think I think too much," and that's something I can easily relate to since I can never seem to quiet my thoughts. So much so, that I can't stop myself from thinking of you constantly. Whenever you really shouldn't be in my head; there you are. I don't know what that means, but I think that maybe it's because you were the first person who I felt some type of affinity with since I got here. I mean that in the way that we both know what it's like to not be able to be with the person who we love and are both so jaded that we have difficulty moving on. I told you about Charlie, but I didn't tell you everything. I've had a lot of time to think, and since we are separate from each other, I've decided to tell you what I should've told you from the start. It's only fair._

 _I would first off like to say that you were wrong that night when you said it wasn't my fault; it was. I won't say that we both can't share the blame as to why we didn't work out, but I will say that you were mistaken in thinking that I was more innocent than you. In fact, I would say that your faults alone might not have ever been heavy enough to crush whatever you tried to build between us; mine could. But, I want to tell you about Charlie, how I let him down, and why I let you down. I already mentioned that we, him and I, were together for four or five years and that he died a year ago. That was all I told you, because I wanted to protect myself from being hurt by you, like the way I hurt you when I would use yours and your wife's situation to get at you. Now, I'm just going to be vulnerably honest with you. I loved him, but I cheated on him numerous times. Always with the same woman, I think I mentioned her briefly before. He never made me feel inadequate, or unworthy of him and he never put me down in any way, shape, or form that could even be used as a justification for what I did. According to Negan, there isn't any excuse either way, which I suppose I can agree with. It's just that when people learn how good he was to me and how, despite his flaws, he was an all around likable person; I generally get bombarded with anything but sympathy which maybe I don't deserve. The woman I was with before him broke my heart, way more severely then I knew at the time. She was reckless, self-interested, and didn't believe in monogamy. I know that should've been my clue not to fall in love with her, but she also had really good qualities and knew how to make anyone feel special and wanted. People like that usually do. When she finally hurt me to the point where I could see that the good would never outweigh the bad, it was too late. My mother always said that relationship struck me like lightening. That I had unresolved trauma that resided in me that I couldn't shake. Every time she'd give me the time of day, I knew she'd hurt me, but I still craved her love like an addict._

 _Charlie was different than Sylvie. He was ennobling. He always told me that I was my own worst enemy and that I needed to face myself in order to save myself. He encouraged me to work through my issues, instead of feeding them. But I never handled temptation well; miserably in fact. I liked it when he'd shoot me straight, because it was the truth and the truth hurts, but I always needed to hear it. He could have easily given up on me, hell, he probably should have. I imagine a lot of people must have thought that he was an idiot for continuously taking me back. I thought that sometimes. But, he always did with faith that I meant it that time when I said I was ready to bury my demons. I think he would have even asked me to marry him, but the world had gone to hell and that seemed to be the furthest thing from both our minds. I know this sounds bad, but the world changing kind of felt like it worked out for me for awhile. What family we had that lived through the beginning of the outbreak, died along the way. It was hard, but we had to keep going. Whatever happened to Sylvie, I can't say because I hadn't seen her in five months before everything changed, but to be honest, I didn't care. Those months that Charlie and I survived together were the best and happiest times of my life. In a way, the world collapsing was the freshest and steadiest start we had ever had. But it didn't obviously last._

 _The few months that I was alone, after his death and before Simon found me, I believed that life was over for me. I kept living because he wanted me to and I let him down so many times before that I refused to again. I never planned on committing suicide, but we all know how easy it is in this world to die. But like I said, I swore not to give up, even though I felt like it. When I was brought here, as crazy as it sounds, the Sanctuary provided me the means to fulfill what I promised Charlie. Life would be harsh and unfair, but living was far more likely here than out there. Up until I killed Ronnie, I lived like any other worker here. Like a shovel that toiled until I was told to stop, having no sense of self -worth beyond my ability to dig the earth for him. Although I hated him and the Saviors, I just kept my head down and towed the line, because there wasn't much else I could do. I once heard that there's nobility and bravery in dying for what you believe is right and maybe that's true, but nowadays dying is too natural to be anything other than what it is. Lights out. And I've realized that I'm not ready to blow out the candles, even if it's miserable here._

 _I have to confess that I disliked you tremendously when I first met you. I lumped you with the rest of them, which you did say that that's because you are them. Or Negan. We are all Negan, as the damnable mantra goes. To be fair, you were an asshole to me. You barely spoke a word to me and when you did, you were short and rude. I think I could have shrugged that off, but it was when you told Reed not to give me the first points I would earn because I didn't kneel when you told me to when Negan was coming down the hall. It was a simple mistake, I was new and didn't know, but you made sure I learned. After that, I displaced all my resentment towards all Saviors towards you, whenever I'd see you. When Negan told me that I was going to shadow you, I think it goes without saying that I was less than stoked. And then finding out that it was to help you torment a man. You could tell me all the wrong Daryl and his people have done against us, and you did but it, as well as the conditions we subjected him to, only increased my beliefs that we are the wrong doers. Speaking of Daryl, you should know that he told me that you killed his friend with the cross bow that I'm now aware isn't yours, but his. I also know why you put that picture up in his cell and I can't think that Negan put you up to that. That was your own cruelty, Dwight. That being said, I started to lessen my dislike of you when you, for some reason, showed me the smallest shred of kindness, which I suspected was merely because I was reluctantly on my way to Saviorhood. Correct me if I'm wrong. Why were you nice to me? Do you even know? I sometimes like to think that maybe it's, despite what you say, because you aren't like them. Like him. That you are a better person, even after the things you've done, you're still somehow far more decent than most._

 _That night in the closet when I went down on you, to put it mildly, was unexpected, but I didn't regret it. Maybe it wasn't the best location, but after what happened at the river, something sparked in me when we were so close to one another in the closet. You treated me pretty poorly the next few days after that, but I don't blame you. I understand that maybe I crossed a boundary that I didn't ever really step back out of after that. Did you want me to? Would you have made the first move, if I hadn't? I guess it doesn't matter now. Awhile after that, you said that you wanted to be friends, which we both resolved to be unrealistic if we were continuously shagging like rabbits, as Hal would put it. Thank you for being nice to him, by the way. You also said you thought I'd be a distraction from her which did hurt me a little, I won't lie. It hurt those times when it was clear that you used me, because I never said anything to you, but it made me think that maybe you were thinking of her when we were together. As much as I still love Charlie, it was always your name I cried out. Don't get an ego, but whenever we were together, it felt good. Not just in the obvious way, but in a way I'm sure I can't explain because I don't really know for myself. I thought I would feel guilty, even though Charlie's dead and would want me to move on, because that's the kind of person he was. But, I didn't feel as badly as I thought I would; as I thought I should. I kept wanting you, sometimes for no reason other then the way you laughed like when you beat me in chess, or when our hands touched when I gave you your blanket back. Hell, even when you gave me an aspirin for my hangover._

 _I said it was my fault that we didn't work out and mean it. You were right; I was dishonest with you about Negan. I should've told you that he and I kissed in Alexandria and that he asked me to marry him, before agreeing to move into your room. I knew it wasn't right and still kept it from you, because I was afraid of how you would take it. In hindsight, I realize that you might have taken it better if I had told you from the get go. Please believe me when I say that my fear of you finding out was not that I was afraid of you. It was fear of you pushing me away finally and not ever reconciling with me. That was how we did things, right? Push and pull, always spurring each other and then crawling into each other's beds. I feared that you would not be like Charlie, which I now see to be a good thing, and not put up with me after slipping back into old habits. You proved me right. Despite everything that I knew about how you: that you have killed, your cruel treatment of Daryl, and even how you framed Carson, which I still don't understand; I wanted to be with you._

 _I think I'm selfish. I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too. I wanted to be with you and not have to confront the fact that I was repeating the past. And I have to admit that I realize that, hypothetically, if we were still together that I would probably be content with you, but I don't know if you would be able to say the same. I had a lot of anxiety, insecurity, and doubt when I agreed to be with you, but I agreed anyway because it meant you wanted me like I wanted you. That, Dwight, is perhaps the biggest thing I have to apologize to you for. It was my fault, because I wasn't ready as much as I thought I was and I entered into a relationship that I was unqualified for and unworthy of. You are a far better person than I am; I don't care if you disagree with me. You always gave more than I ever did. And you never used any of my faults against me, even when I would do it to you. I traded my underwear to a guy whose name I didn't know for a joint, for god's sake, and you didn't judge me or store it for a later argument._

 _It's clear to me that, while you were uncertain if we would succeed, you were wiling to go all in and I wasn't. I never knew how to do that. I am unworthy of you. You have your faults, as everyone does, but you have always been honest with me. You admitted a lot of things that initially you were closed off about, and I was only worried about keeping the vital parts of me secured away from you. You tried and I failed before I even began, which in retrospect, was because I didn't even try. I had in mind when writing this rambling letter to not only explain myself, but to apologize to you. I'm sorry, Dwight. I truly am. If I thought for a split second that you would forgive me enough that we could try again, I'd like to think that I would leap in a heartbeat for that. That I could be better and hold myself to that. But, I have to report that I think I'm better suited to be his whore. Oops, I meant to say wife, but I won't cross whore out and write a kinder one over it. Being married to Negan is the first time in my life that I ever had to be straight and narrow, because I don't have it in me to let another person take the heat for my transgressions. In some twisted way, it's the very day of reckoning I had coming. To be married to someone who will never love me and who I must be faithful to. Like being chained to a lake of fire. I hope you can forgive me, D. I hope that we can at least be friends after some time has passed. If not, I understand and still wish the best for you. I may not have known you for a long time, but I know that you are a good person. I saw it through the humanity you showed me._ _Well, my hand is starting to hurt, so I guess I should end this here. Just a reminder: burn after reading._

I fold the two papers that are each covered, front and back, with ink and get up from my bed. _This will only end badly_. To be on the safe side, I tuck the letter under my dress and into my bra. As I open my door, Amber walks in with messy hair and downcast eyes. Shit, I took too long to write this and now Negan's out on the prowl. I walk out of the room and head for the door to the stairwell, as coolly as I can. I make it a good few feet, before that damning whistle serpents through the air.

"Where ya goin' off to, light of my life?" Negan jests. _Fuck!_

I turn around and grin faintly. "I was gonna go for a walk. It's a little stuffy up here, so I was just gonna stand outside for awhile." Negan leans against the wall, staring. "I wanted to feel the night air...you want to come?"

His smile disappears and his response sounds pissed off. "No, I don't want to fucking walk with you."

I wince at that, even though I didn't actually want him to. "Okay." That's all I say before I continue.

"Anna," I look over my shoulder as he calls me, "Hurry back." I look up at the hall clock that reads a few minutes into eight. I nod and then go.


	27. Cuckold

The second floor is so quiet, it's almost suspicious. There's conversation going on very dimly behind some random doors and the few doors that are open have occupants that are too engrossed in whatever it is they're doing to be bothered by me passing by. Nevertheless, the volume is pretty low, lower than the previous levels.

The dark line at the bottom of Dwight's door tells me that he's not inside. That, or he's just sitting in the dark. I can make some assumption that if he is inside; he's likely not asleep since he told me he doesn't sleep really. Whatever the case, I pluck the note from my bra and then get down on one knee to fix the strap on my wedge that I loosened the buckle on in the stairwell. The note slides swiftly under the door without any issues.

I stand up and walk casually away towards the front of the factory where I told Negan I was going. That way I'm not technically lying, right? The night breeze is warm and comforting, which confirms what the girls were suspecting about summer coming early. The heat of summer, anyway.

I go down the steps and taciturnly greet the night guards at the gate when they nod as I pass them. Although it's nice out, I still hold my arms across me as I stroll aimlessly around the perimeter of the factory. The docile growling of the dead who can't see any living flesh fades, as I keep westward. There are lights around the factory that create a yellowish glow every few yards, so I can see where I'm going.

While walking, I think about the likely consequences of what I just did. Dwight's smart enough to get rid of the letter, even without my instructions. As long as he does that, we should both be in the clear. I know it was risky, but I had to tell him the truth. Negan got some of the truth, why not someone who may have actually deserved it? I don't know, maybe I did it out some habitual desire to be near him, even though I know that it's not a good idea.

It's hard. I thought I could just apathetically navigate through this sham of a marriage to Negan, but he makes it so much more difficult in his way. Negan's "affection" is unaffectionate and frankly mocking nine times out of ten. He plays nice to get a response from me, the others as well I'm betting, and then once he gets what he wants; he reminds me of my expendable position. He's something else entirely. I guess someone who can convince seven women to agree to marry him would be.

 _Snap!_ I move my foot back, when something makes a fracturing sound, accompanied by a cracking feeling under my shoe. There's a light less than a few feet away, but I still have to squint to make out what it is I've stepped on. _Is that?_ It is. Little bones.

Some are missing, but the ones still there on the ground neatly align to form a wing pattern. _A skull, a beak._ It's a bird...it's _the_ bird. This may be a leaping judgment, but I believe these are the bones of the blackbird that disappeared from the roof last summer by the time Negan reemerged to put it out of it's misery.

Weird as it sounds, probably because I'm such a sop; I'm utterly crestfallen at the sight. When I came to the conclusion that it, despite the broken wing, had managed to fly away and Negan agreed; I gained some sense of hope that I figured applied to more than just a bird.

I decide to go back instead of completing a loop around the factory. When I get to the front, Laura's smoking with the guards, laughing at something one of them said. She turns her head and smiles, taking a drag of her cigarette before tossing it on the ground.

"Hey!" She shouts to me, rubbing her booted toes against the gravel where the cigarette landed.

"Hey." I greet back.

"What were you doing over there?" Laura half- chuckles.

"I was gonna go for a walk," I answer, running my hand against my arm, "but I changed my mind."

"Because we had plans, right?" Both of us head towards the entrance.

"Yeah." I smile, unconvincingly.

"Liar," She laughs, "Alright, let's go play some poker."

"Just the two of us?"

"Negan okay with that?" Laura raises her brow.

"Yeah," I assure her somewhat apprehensive face, "I was actually asking if it was just going to be the two of us, because poker is usually played with more than two people."

"Oh. Well, no. Just us girls." Laura opens the door for me and who else but Dwight nearly bumps into me.

"S-sorry." I fumble before clearing my throat. The almost contact is enough to send a thrill through my chest.

"Hey, D." Laura grins, picking up on the awkwardness of the moment.

"Hey," He has an unlit, outpost cigarette between his fingers. He looks at me. "Hi."

"Hi." I softly reply.

"Come on, Nan," Laura takes my arm lightly, "I wanna kick your ass in poker." I glance him over, before following her inside. "That why you asked?"

"No." I firmly state as we walk towards the halls. "I was actually asking, because I thought that maybe Hal could join us." I innocently look over at her straight face.

"Oh," She nods, biting her lip in thought, "He's got perimeter watch in fifteen." Her brows flinch at my small, grin. "I know that, because we talk occasionally and pretty much everyone knows each other's jobs."

"Right." I continue to head to her room with my hands behind my back.

"We're just friends, you bitch." Laura playfully shoves me on the arm.

 **...**

"Nan!" My arm's shaken lightly, but firmly. "Nan!" A sharp, hushed voice calls me. I lift my head from my palm, blinking at Laura who looks heavily anxious.

"What's wrong?" I murmur, lazily extending my legs that were tucked up on the seat of Laura's armchair.

"It's one o'clock," She whispers, "we fell asleep."

Suddenly, panic and reality hits me like a train. _Oh, fuck!_ I quickly scramble out of the chair and frantically search for my shoes, taken back by the abrupt sickness I feel from getting up so fast. "I-I can't find my shoes."

"Here." Laura hands them to me. "I'm sorry, it's my fault." I knit my eyebrows at her in confusion. "You were tired and I've been drinking. I went to the bathroom five minutes ago, that's when I realized how late it was."

"It's okay," I swallow back the sickness I feel rising, "Nothing happened."

"Yeah, but..." She doesn't finish, but I know what she means.

"Okay, look," I hesitate before putting my hands on her arms and meet her eyes, "Nothing happened. Negan's not gonna put the iron to your face." I chuckle to give her some sense of relief, but inwardly I'm panicking at having to go back up. "We were playing cards and lost track of time."

"Yeah." Laura nods, scratching at her nose ring.

I leave her room and wait until she closes the door to put a hand out for the wall. I think I'm going to be sick. I scale the stairs as if it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. What's going to happen once I get up there? How angry is he going to be? My vision goes into a tunnel as my mind races with all possible outcomes. My heart is railing against me past its normal abilities. I've had these feelings before with Charlie, but this time I haven't actually done anything wrong and the consequences could be dire.

I stop in the halfway point in the stairwell that'll take me to the top. Deep breaths only cause me to heave and I puke in the stairwell. I spit the remaining salvia on the floor and have to go up.

I open the door, knowing it will be too loud to sneak through, especially when it closes. The floor is completely dark and silent enough to kill. All doors are closed, except the ones to the drawing room that are always open. I tread carefully in my bare feet to my door that is directly across from the open room. My hand is on the knob when I hear a whistle from behind me. _The_ whistle.

"What happened to hurrying the fuck back?" His cool, calm, and slightly humored voice sends a chill up my spine. I turn around slowly and make out his shadowed figure sitting in a chair in the room that puts him in sight of me.

"I, um, I accidentally fell asleep in Laura's room." I claim.

Negan stands and slowly comes towards me. "How'd you wind up there?"

"I came in from my walk outside and was feeling a little dizzy," I lie for some reason, "I already told her I'd hang out with her, so I went to her room to sit down for awhile. We were playing cards and I must have just fallen asleep in her armchair."

He comes into the hall and steps towards me, making me instinctively back away. Negan furrows his brows. "What? You think I'm gonna fuckin' hit you?"

I slowly shake my head. "No. No, I don't think that at all."

"Then why are you backing away from me like I'm about to beat you to a bloody fucking pulp?" _Maybe because you say shit like that and I've seen what you're capable of._

"I'm sorry, I just..." I put a hand out to touch his chest, as a distancing tool as well as a possibly manipulative way to take down the tension. "I just don't want you to think that I-"

"That you were gone for five fucking hours, because you were sneaking around with Dwighty boy?" Negan interjects, taking my hand but not removing it from himself. "Because, call me a paranoid spouse, but I can't fucking help but to think that maybe given your past 'mistakes', that that is exactly what you were fucking doing."

"Well, that's no-"

"Steppin' out on me and making me worry like a motherfucker." He's smiling, but I know he's serious. "So, is that what you were doing, darlin'?"

"No, Negan," I look him straight in the eye, "I was with Laura, playing cards. Go ahead and check."

"I intend to, but thanks for the fucking permission." Negan leans in closer to me. "You like pussy, too, right? How do I know that you weren't eating out?"

"I wouldn't cheat on you," My face twists in disgust at his vulgar question, "I'm not fucking stupid. And I thought about what you said earlier."

"What was that?"

"About how what we do now, in the present, is all that matters." I speak honestly. Negan did offer up some good advice, despite it coming after he ripped me a new one. Negan's smile lessens, but doesn't disappear. Almost like he's thinking about whether I'm lying or not . "I want to be better than I was before."

He grin tips up, humored by my words. "Yeah, well, so do a lot of fucking people," Negan looks down the hall at nothing and lick his bottom lip, "but it doesn't mean it happens that way."

"It will for me." I rasp, leaning against the wall, taking my hand from his, and oddly feeling confident in what I said as a lie to subdue him.

Negan looks back at me and our eyes meet. He leans down and I incline to meet him halfway, but he encourages me back to the wall. "I'm not too keen on fucking someone who may be sneaking around behind my back, so I'm gonna call it a night."

 **...**

This morning, during breakfast, Negan drops a bombshell while I'm eating my syrup drowned meal.

"I don't want you to leave this floor until I know for a fact that you were where you said you were and that you weren't lying to me about what you were doing."

I huff incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"As a goddamn, fucking heart attack!" He chuckles, tipping his coffee back.

I spend the majority of the morning in my room, working on my embroidery project, and waiting for my darling husband to come back and tell me I'm innocent. The other wives know what's happening, because I hadn't come back by time they all turned in and because Negan kept nothing private at breakfast. A hour or so before lunch, I go into the drawing room.

"Hey," Amber sits down on the sofa, "I'm going to the library to see my mom. Want to come?"

"Can't," I say without looking away from my work, "Not allowed to leave, remember?"

"Oh, well...want me to bring you a new book?"

"Sure." I reply, mildly annoyed. Not so much at her, more at the situation.

"Okay." She nods and then leaves.

Shortly after, Tonya comes in asking if anyone's seen her journal.

"Did you leave it in Negan's room?" Frankie asks her after we all claim not to have seen it.

"I would never take it in there," She retorts, but then looks up thoughtfully, "I don't think I would. I really need to find it."

"Well, just go in there and look," Hazel suggests.

"Absolutely not," Tonya snaps, "I've never been in there without him and I don't plan on him catching me in there."

Frankie and Hazel stand up, laughing in unison. "We'll go in there with you, scaredy cat!" Frankie cackles. "You're being so dramatic."

The three of them exit which leaves Danica and I alone in the room. We look at each other when we're sure the other's not. I try to focus on the task at hand, but I can't help but to keep glancing her way.

I clear my throat. "Um, Danica."

Danica turns her head towards me. "Yeah?"

 _Ow!_ I poke my finger with the needle on accident. "Uh, I wanted to say that I'm sorry for the other night." She knits her brows together. "I know you agreed to it, but if I..." _God, this is awkward._

"It's okay," She tells me, peering back at her book, "I did agree to it."

"But if you-"

"Nan, listen." Danica stands up to leave. "I didn't dislike what you did, okay?"

I blush hotly at her statement. "Oh."

"It was...just weird," She continues as she cross the room, "because Negan made it weird."

That, I believe. Negan can make any situation uncomfortable. "How?"

"He... it was fine, at first, but then he just seemed more interested in you and I felt a little left out."

If my cheeks were heating up before, they're on fire now. "I, um, I didn't realize that."

"Well, don't sweat it," She grins, "I'm not jealous, but what's the point of a threesome, if the third person is just a unnecessary third wheel?" She exits.

The other three are heard laughing, coming out of Negan's room, and down the hall. I hear the stairwell door open and close, the laughter diminishes. The room Danica and Hazel share closes as well. I sit alone in the room and think about what she said. It makes me look down at the cloth fastened in the loop. "Bone Sweet Bone" is stitched in cursive, black thread above the beginning of what will be a pair of hands.

I stand up and go over to the piano, setting the embroidery down on the top. I slide the fallboard up and begin to play Nocturne op. 9 No. 2. Two and a half minutes in, the door open and closes again. It's Negan, but I don't stop playing, despite feeling on edge.

"Keep it up, Mozart." He chuckles as he enters the room.

"It's Chopin." I dryly state, ignoring the clinking in the background. He comes over with a glass of something that he extends to me, but I shake my head and continue playing.

"Can I talk to you?"

I nod. "Sure."

"Can you go to intermission?" He leans his elbow on the piano.

I shake my head again. "It's not that much longer."

"Well, you can fuckin' pause it, can't you?" His smile is waning, but patient.

I stop, but only for a second. "I spent all morning waiting for you to tell that I didn't do anything wrong, so you can wait a few more lines."

Negan, surprisingly, lets me finish which I didn't expect, but after what Danica said, I don't appreciate it. I'd rather he had dropped the fallboard on my hands, breaking my fingers. When I'm done, I put my hands in my lap.

"Done, maestro?"

"Yes." I retort. "That was his mom's favorite."

"Pretty." He vaguely notes.

"She died of cancer a year, or so before. She had been battling for years, before I even met Charlie. I told him she'd beat it; I thought she would. If anyone could, it was her." I gaze towards the window to my right. The wet clunking of ice in a glass is heard behind me.

"That's...rough." Negan comments with a less than chipper voice. _Don't you ever learn?_

"Well, I did some digging."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His fingers pull my embroidery to him. "Good news is that it looks like you were telling the truth."

"It that so?" I turn back to his solemn smile.

"That is fucking so, sweetheart," He shifts a little, "Laura said the door was open and two people confirmed that. Found her in Dwight's room this morning." He watches for my reaction, which I can't pretend isn't a little disappointed. Negan licks his teeth. " He said they've been trying to keep things discreet. I know he wouldn't lie to me, knowing the price."

"Nice to know that everyone else's word has more weight than mine."

"Well, cut me some slack, darlin'. Cheaters don't really tell the truth, do they? Not until the truth's already out anyway."

"So, I'm in the clear?" I stand up from the piano, taking the embroidery from him. "I don't have to be babysat, or report my whereabouts to anyone?"

"Nah, you're good," He walks with me as I go to leave, "Are we alone up here?"

"Danica's in her room." I turn to look at him as he enter my room with me. _He can't be serious._

He puts his arm on my hip and casually pivots himself in front of me. "Are you putting more pounds on?"

"Excuse me?" I push his hand down from my waist.

"Your dress feels kind of tight in here." He pulls me back in by the hips.

"Well, then don't bother." I move away, yanking my arm from his hand when he tries to stop me.

He follows me with a laugh, "Don't be such a pissy Polly, I didn't say it was a bad thing! C'mon, sweetheart, why don't we reconcile?"

"Reconcile?" I stop at the door and turn. "For what? You being distrusting and trying to track down my string of lovers?"

He bites his lip. "Nope. For you coming in fucking late and making me wait up for you."

"I didn't _make_ you wait up for me," We lock eyes, "You _chose_ to because I told you something in confidence and it made you instantly think the worse."

"Well, you can hardly fuckin' blame me for suspecting as much."

"Is that how it'll always be?" I laugh caustically.

"No, you passed inspection. I trust you." Negan snickers back.

"So, are you gonna apologize?" I cock a brow.

"Excuse the fuck outta me, but apologize for what?"

"For suspecting me of cheating on you, making me stay up here until you came back, and then being wrong." I cross my arms. "I don't know where you came from, but where I come from; being wrong is warrant for an apology."

He scoffs unbelievably. "Oh my, honey, you must be fuckin' sick after all!"

"And you must be delusional if you think I'm gonna let you fuck me without an apology." I spin around on my heel and go towards the door. His hand pulling me back by the arm stops me.

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, Nan?" His smile is trying to hold on.

"My husband!" I yell as I tug free of him. "My husband who I thought, for the smallest, stupidest second of my life, I could confide in, but you fucking judged me!" _Make him go away._ I continue to the door. "I won't make that mistake again."

I grab the doorknob and open the door, only to have his hand reach above me and close it. I whip around to tell him to leave my room, but am silenced by his passionate, angry lips colliding into mine.

With one hand on the doorknob, I forcefully hit the other one onto his chest to push him back. Instead, my fingers clutch his shirt and I end up getting blended into the heat. His hands rapidly find the ends of my dress and bunch it up past my hips.

My hand slides up to his shoulder, and then rests on the back of his neck. He brings his hands up to my face to deepen the kiss and I pant out a moan when he presses himself to me. My sound makes him start to undo his belt. "Say you're sorry." I manage to say.

"What?" His mouth heatedly trails down my neck.

"Apologize to me." I pant as he moves his head back to look to see if I'm serious.

Negan smiles a toothy grin. "Fuck no."

I twist the doorknob and open the door. "Then leave."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Not until you say sorry." I clear my throat. His smile must be a fan of The Clash, because it looks like it's asking should I stay or should I go? "I think I'm owed one."

Negan squints at me, scanning my face for any signs that I'm pulling his leg. "Everything that went on this morning was on you, because you came in at one in the fucking morning. I'm not saying sorry."

"I'm not having sex with you, unless you do." I let my hands brush down my dress to get it in order, waiting for him to go.

"I guess you'll be going through a dry spell." He fixes his belt, agitated.

"Well, I guess that's why you have five other wives." I'm not going to break.

"Yeah, you're right," He sneers at me, "What am I doing wasting a hard on on you?"

"Same reason you waited up for me last night." I have no idea what I meant by that, but it's something cruel or testing that popped into my head and leaped right out of my mouth. If looks could kill, his would have done so, and then waited for me to turn, just so he could kill me again. _Think, Nan, think._ "I'm your favorite."

Negan laughs harshly and then stares back at me. "I don't have a favorite. If I did, it wouldn't be some small fuckin' potatoes like you." He opens the door some more and then slams it behind him.

I hear him tread down the hall to the bathroom and then the slamming of that door. "Didn't think so."

"What?" Amber's mousy voice asks behind the door, right before she opens it. "Did you say something?"

I step back to avoid getting hit by the door. "Uh, no. I was just thinking out loud."

"Oh," She looks back, "Negan was in here?"

"Yep," I feel a bittersweet feeling of power, "He left. Well, obviously, I mean because you just saw him."

Amber looks at my flushed cheeks. "Here, my mom said you'd like it." She hands me a battered copy of Jane Eyre.

"Oh," I touch the crinkly image of a woman walking on the moors by a tempestuous sea, "perfect, thanks."

"Yeah." She sits at the vanity. "My mom told me that you, who she calls Nina, are a sensible girl unlike me and would appreciate good literature."

"Oh." I get the sense she's a bit peeved. "Mother's, right?"

Amber combs her hair. "She likes smart people and I chose to be a cheerleader in school."

"Cheerleaders can't be smart?" I sympathetically grin.

She looks at me. "You sound like her."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." I take up my embroidery, fiddling with the needle.

"Look, maybe I should've paid more attention to my school work, but it doesn't matter now anyways." She abruptly stands and picks up a plush, apricot towel. "I'm gonna go shower."

 **...**

 _The dead are everywhere. We live in an old summer campground in the woods and use bell lines tied to the trees to help signal when they're near. But this...this is herd that can't be dealt with like the few manageable stragglers that drudge by._

 _"Head to the mess hall and help from the vantage point." Charlie tells me, before he takes his knife out and heads down the hill._

 _I hurry up to the mess hall, taking care to stay to the left where bullets aren't flying for lack of dead. The mess hall is where I find the three others, one of which lends me a hand up on the porch._

 _"Here," Winnie hands me a rifle, "Just like we planned."_

 _I take it, nervously, never once being able to hit the dead where it counts. I'm a terrible shot, despite Charlie spending months trying to improve me. Because we are in the woods, our group that now consists of seventeen people has a plan if the dead blindside us. Four up at the mess hall, the ten down on the ground. The other three are two young kids and a pregnant woman._

 _"Shit." I say under my breath, hitting, but not killing the dead, if I hit them at all._

 _"Where's Abbie?" Isobel, the pregnant woman comes out. The four of us turn to her. "She's not here, I checked the closets and bathroom, but she's not in here."_

 _Winnie, who's Abbie's adult sister looks frantically out into the horrific view. "Abbie!"_

 _Peter touches her shoulder. "Go look for her, take down as many as you can while you search."_

 _"Nan, go with her." Isobel says, taking my gun from me. "I'll stay and fire."_

 _I nod and we both jump down from the porch and go off to look. The dead are sparser for us, since the main vein of them seems to be coming from down the slope. Winnie and I dispatch them while calling out the eight year old's name._

 _"Abbie!" We shout nearly at the same time._

 _I pull a rotter back by the shirt and stick my knife in the back of it's skull before it can get to Winnie whose back is turned from it._

 _"Abbie!"_

 _"Winnie!" The girl's whimpered yell is heard among the trees. We both whip around in the direction it came from, stopping to listen._

 _"Abbie?!" Winnie calls out._

 _"Here!" My eyes scan the woods for Abbie. "I'm up here!" A tie- dye sweatshirt sleeve with a little hand pokes out in a dark tree._

 _"She's up in the tree!" I point up, before looking down at the mess of dead that have surrounded it._

 _"Fuck!" Winnie looks where I'm pointing. She strikes a biter with her machete. We make our way over to the tree, taking down the dead as we do._

 _There's a Jeep parked by the tree, which is probably how she got up to the braches she could climb. "I'll get her down!" I tell Winnie. "Clear out the dead." When the dead in my way of the truck are down, I hop onto the hood of the car, instantly surrounded by the rotters who've turned their attention away from Abbie. Winnie kills them as fast as she can._

 _I look up and see the kid, reaching out with both arms. "Come on," I know I won't be able to get up there with the dead all around us, "You have to climb down."_

 _"I can't!" Abbie cries._

 _"It's okay," I try to coax her down with my hands, "It's okay, climb down. It's the only way."_

 _She looks down at the rotters and her sister. "Climb down, Abbie!" Winnie shouts._

 _Abbie nervously peers down at the branches and, hugging the trees, takes a careful step to a lower branch. Time is of the essence, but I don't rush her as she comes down inch by inch. I survey the scene down the slope and can see that the numbers are starting to dwindle. Abbie makes it to the lowest branch, slowly sliding her feet out to a dangle for me to grab._

 _"Good girl," I take her and pull her the rest of the way down, "Let go of the branch. That's it."_

 _As soon as her feet land on the hood, Winnie screams out in pain. A rotter is behind her, ripping into her neck from under her ear, peeling off a strip of her flesh with its teeth. "Winnie!"_

 _"No, no," I snatch the girl back, "Shit!" The dead are still numerous enough and Winnie's cries are disorienting._

 _"Nan!" Charlie shouts out in the distance. I can feel myself panic as my eyes catch sight of him and the others coming this way._

 _Gunshots go off to kill the dead around myself and the distraught eight year old. I turn behind me when I realize Abbie's moved. She's climbing onto the soft top of the Jeep to get up away from the dead._

 _"Abbie, no!" I reach my hand for her to come back, but it's too late. The already fraying top, collapse likes a parachute and the girl screams as she falls down into the truck, getting sacked by the fabric. "Abbie!" I rush over to pull her out of the inside. A yank at my ankle nearly pulls me down, but I kick the dead off me, only to have another grab my arm. Blood splatters onto my face as a bullet exits through it's head._

 _Charlie helps me off the Jeep, before opening the car door open and bringing Abbie out. She clings onto him, shaken up. He looks over at me and reaches for my hand, before we all start to head up to the hall._

 _We're a few feet to the mess hall when I remember about Winnie. "I gotta go back." I run toward the Jeep. If she hasn't been devoured, I want to make sure she doesn't turn, for Abbie's sake. When I'm back there, I search in the dark for her among the dropped corpses. It doesn't take me that long to find what remains of her. She lay in her own blood on the cold ground with her open intestines, destroyed by carnivorous biters._

 _"Nan?" Charlie makes me jump. "Sorry."_

 _"It's fine," I kneel down beside her and pull out my knife, "Abbie okay?"_

 _"I guess so." He's covered in dirt, sweat, and blood from the fight. "You saved her."_

 _"Yeah." I numbly say, walking past him, exhausted. I glance over at the Jeep and spot a little white sneaker that must have fallen off Abbie when she fell inward. I go over to retrieve it, leaning my upper half in. My fingertips are barely touching the tongue of the shoe, when a dead hisses from under the soft top, finding it's way out._

 _"Charlie!" I yell when it grabs me forcefully by the wrist, trying to bring it's mouth close enough to bite. Charlie comes up behind me, leaning over me to stab the dead man in the head. He, like myself, is trying to keep it from biting me, while attempting to reach his knife over. He manages to kill it and I step on him as I push myself back in a fright._

 _He chuckles as I put my hands on my knees. I look at him and my eyes widen. "Look out!"_

 _He yells out in pain. NO! Another biter that came from nowhere, has sank its teeth into his arm. Charlie shoves it down and stomps it's head in with his boot. "Fuck!"_

 _"You've been bit." I quietly point out, before getting frantic. "Ch-Charlie you've been bit."_

 _"Quick, give me your belt!" He demands and I fumble to do so. "Hurry!" He take's it up and rapidly creates a tourniquet for himself, trying to remain calm. "Nate!"_

 _Nate's already running over, having seen what happened. I just stand there in shock as the two men quickly move to the Jeep, Nate taking out his axe. Charlie is breathing deeply as he lays his arm down on the hood and I see his eyes flicker to mine, before nodding at Nate. Nate takes hold of his wrist and brings the axe swiftly down._

 _My heartbeat is in my ears and all of the sudden I feel a faint tilting back motion. A hard thud and I'm staring at the sky, listening to the ringing and beating in my ears._

 _"Nan!" His voice calls out so distantly I can barely hear. "Nan!"_

 _I open my mouth to speak, but my eyes flutter and everything softly fades out._

"Ow!" I groan, picking myself off the floor beside my bed. I fell out of my bed; waking myself up from the nap I took after Amber left.

The door opens and Frankie peaks in. "Are you okay? I heard a loud thud."

"Fine," I stand up, touching the sweaty underside of my hair, "I just accidentally rolled out of bed."

Frankie nods, looking me over. "Have you seen Tonya's journal? It's small and light green?"

"No." Pull my messy hair into a ponytail.

"She's freaking out about not finding it, so if you do see it-"

"I'll take it straight to her." I give her a thumbs up.

 **...**

The breeze feels nice against my sweaty hair. Gross, maybe, but nice. I can also smell the saltiness of dried sweat on my skin. I bummed an outpost cigarette from a passerby Savior and smoke it, while leaning against the yellow railing. What a strange night that was. It was surreal, as if it couldn't possibly have happened in real life. But who would have thought the world as it is now would be possible?

"Hi."

I look over to see Dwight, lighting a cigarette, leaning backwards on the rail. "Hey."

"You almost got Laura in trouble." He tells me.

"I fell asleep by accident." I redirect my eyes to the fences. "He overreacted."

"Do you know where she was this morning?" Dwight asks, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Where?" I step on the joint, waiting for him to tell me what Negan said.

"In my room." He answers.

I stare at him. "Oh."

"Yeah," He stares back, "That took suspicion off quick."

"Yeah." I mutter, confused by what he means by that. It contradicts the talking I heard coming from her door the other morning. It wasn't his voice I had heard.

"I have to go."

"Wait." Dwight almost takes my arm, but I think he thinks better of it. I look at him with a swelling heart. He gazes back and then to the ground, taking another drag. "You, uh, you look good. Healthy, I mean."

"Oh," I meekly grin, "thank you." The breeze sweeps hair across my sight, so I fix it behind my ear. "It's a little chilly out here."

"You should stand by the fire place inside." Dwight suggests, making look back at him before I go inside. Our eyes are each other's for a moment. "It's burning in there."

"I'm glad to hear." I nod, knowing exactly what he means.

Inside, I go right to Hal's room and put my fist up to knock. "Hal?"

He opens the door a little while after. "Hey," He peers out into the hall, "What the hell were you thinking last night?"

"It was an accident!" I hoarsely whisper. "I think I'm coming down with something and I got tired. I fell asleep in her chair."

"This is exactly why I said that _we_ couldn't hang out." Hal sighs, irritably. "What do you want?"

I produce the broken ring halves from the hidden pocket of my dress. "Can you fix it again, please? Or are you afraid Negan will be knocking on your door next?"

Hal takes the pieces from me. "I'll fix it." He curtly states.

"Great," I cross my arms, "So, you and her, huh?" Hal arches a brow. "I heard your voice in her room the other morning."

Hal rubs the back of his neck, shyly. "Uh, we're just friends."

"Really?" I smile.

Hal looks at me and chuckles. "That's right, haven't you heard? Her and Dwight were outed."

When I get to the infirmary, reminded that I was gonna have Harlan check me out, he's gone for the evening. _Great._

 **...**

Dinner is mortifyingly uncomfortable, but for whom? Certainly not me, I'm quietly eating my meal, reading Jane Eyre, while the others try to disperse the tension with random chit chat. Negan is immensely silent as he eats, undoubtedly pissed beyond recognition. _Poor baby._ I on the other hand am perfectly fine.

Every so often, I notice his eyes spying glances at me and blink dully away when he knows I'm aware. This is the best I've felt since I got up here. Cock blocking him earlier has really gotten to him and I absolutely don't feel guilty about it. Serves him right for treating me the way he does. He finishes eating and abruptly gets up, banging his knee on the table in doing so, making the plates and silverware clank in a startling volume.

Later on, he comes into the drawing room and propositions Frankie, who begrudgingly puts down her knitting and goes with him. Ten minutes pass until I get up from my seat and go to brush my teeth and wash my face for bed. Right as I open the bathroom door, Frankie comes from his bedroom in a huff, which along with the short amount of time tells me they didn't get far. Frankie faintly murmurs something about him blaming her for something I can't make out.

I hear Tonya gripe some more about her lost journal when I exit the bathroom. To be truthful, I don't really care as much as they all seem to, so I just go into my room and comb my hair. I glance at the clock. Eight- forty. Tomorrow's Charlie's birthday. I French braid my hair as best I can, thinking about Charlie. I roll my shoulders and climb into bed, looking at the postcard on the wall. I wonder if thinking about being with someone else qualifies as cheating? If so, Negan's a cuckold.

 **...**

 _"Nan?"_

 _"I'm right here, love." I smooth a hand over his clammy forehead._

 _Charlie swallows and licks his lip. "Could you get me some water?"_

 _"Of course." I get from the floor and bring back a glass of water a moment later. "Tilt your head up." I put my hand on the back of his head as he thirstily gulps the water down._

 _He exhales deep, but weakly. "Thanks."_

 _"Graham is gonna come back in a little while to check up on you." I run my fingers through his hair again with a smile._

 _He smiles tiredly. "You don't have to sit here like my mother, Anna."_

 _"I want to, Charles." I chuckle with leaky eyes._

 _"Don't cry, honey," Charlie's breathing is strained and bleak, "It's not uncommon to lose a wing nowadays."_

 _"Graham says you have an infection in the bloodstream," I can't help but to tear up, "A missing arm is the least of my concerns for you."_

 _Charlie touches the ring on my finger. "Can't believe you put that picture in there."_

 _I laugh. "It's my favorite."_

 _"I liked the one when we camping in the Poconos." He pushes the covers down from his chest._

 _I think about the one's talking about. "Yeah, that was a good time." He coughs and I give a look of worry._

 _"I'll be fine." He takes my arm from his head and holds to his chest. The body temperature seems to be warming up. The last few days, he's been going from fever to shivering, hour by hour. "But in case I'm not, I-"_

 _"Don't!"_

 _"Nan, listen to me. If I don't make it, I want you to make it as long as you can."_

 _I look off to cry. "Charlie...this is my fault."_

 _"They came in a herd in the middle of the night," He kisses my hand with hot lips, "We should have made barriers a long time ago. Twine and bells aren't shit."_

 _"It's my fault because I always need your help. I couldn't even get a shoe without you needing to step in to save me. If you hadn't, that rotter wouldn't have snuck up on you and you wouldn't have gotten bit."_

 _"Nan."_

 _"If you hadn't gotten bit," I continue, "Then you're arm wouldn't have needed to be cut off and you wouldn't have gone septic."_

 _"Stop." He sternly says. "It wasn't your fault."_

 _"Agree to disagree." I haplessly smirk._

 _"Jane Eyre ends good, right?" He picks up the book from the other side of the bed._

 _"Yeah, she gets what she wants." I chuckle, taking it from him. "You can finish it later."_

 _"I made it to the part where she told Rochester she's a human being." Charlie tries not to cough._

 _"The best part."_

 _"Funny how people forget that sometimes."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Forget that people are people." He coughs shallower. "Nan, I want you to know that I really did forgive you all those times you were with her."_

 _My face cringes and more tears come out. "Oh, Charlie. I-"_

 _"You were human and I never forgot that."_

 _I kiss his forehead. "Being a human doesn't excuse me from making those mistakes."_

 _"I know. The first time I saw you," His eyes start to water, "The light from the window in the bakery hit you just right." His mouth tips up. "You had a broke down ponytail and flour on your elbow and cheek. And you had resting bitch face, but the way the light you in your holey t-shirt and apron; I thought: 'I'm gonna ask her out'."_

 _"I thought you were too friendly." I joke. "Annoying."_

 _He chuckles before going on, "I let my family eat all my mom's stuff on purpose, even helped, so I could have an excuse to go back to Henricksson's."_

 _"Wow," I pick at the ripping crinkle in the book on my lap, "What a creep."_

 _"Luckiest creep in the world." He scoffs, looking up at the ceiling. "I knew I liked you after our first date. And not because you touched it."_

 _I snort, putting my hand over my mouth to quietly myself. "Did more than that."_

 _"Hi- five," Charlie puts his remaining hand up and I laughingly meet it with mine, "But anyway, I did forgive you. Everytime, despite what I said when I was drunk. Because I loved you and I knew that your parents really upset you when they would bring up your past mistakes. Nobody's perfect or safe from error."_

 _"Cheating is a terrible thing, Charlie." I climb over to the empty spot on the mattress._

 _"I know it is." His hand swirls my hair. "Every time you'd get quiet, or would come home and be all over me, I knew it happened again. Whenever you would leave, or I would leave; I would think that was the last time. That I couldn't take it anymore and that you were never going to change."_

 _"I wanted to."_

 _"But then I'd remember the kind of person you are. You aren't a bad, two- timing asshole who just didn't give a shit about hurting me. You had issues. Sylvie was a sociopath who chewed you up and spit you out while saying she loved you and it fucked you up. I didn't want to give up on you, because of that..."_

 _I try to hold in a whine as his hand pat my head. "You love me, you always did. It should've been enough."_

 _"I don't know, maybe I'm delirious. Graham said that could happen."_

 _"You're more sane than I am."_

 _"Maybe I forgave you too easily and let things go back to normal too quickly."_

 _"Yeah, I always felt you were too forgiving," I agree, "I knew anyone else would've left me, but you...you forgave. Why?"_

 _"You wanted to be forgiven, I wanted to forgive you. No one likes carrying that shit around."_

 _"Maybe sometimes that what people like me need. To carry the shame around."_

 _"Nah," Charlie swallows, "You deserved to be loved just like anyone else."_

 _"You were dumb for loving me."_

 _"Yeah, but what could I do? I loved you."_

 _We lay together in silence for sometime. Charlie's breathing is the only thing that can't be quieted and I feel his temperature cool down a little too much. He pulls the blanket up some._

 _"If I don't make it through, Anna Louise Henriksson, I want you to promise me something."_

 _"Charles..."I inhale in frustrated warning._

 _"Nan, promise me you won't stop holding on."_

 _"What's there to hold on to, if you're gone?" I start to form tears yet again._

 _"I'm not all that." He croaks. "Would you want me to stop living, if you died before me?"_

 _"No, but maybe I will die before you." I sit up to look at him. "You're gonna be fine. Sweat it all out and live some more."_

 _"If I don't though," Charlie clears his throat which breaks into a cough, "You have to keep living and not give up. We've lost a lot, you and me, but we didn't call it quits. Same has to go for if either of us die."_

 _"That's not fair to ask someone to hold on, if they want to let go." I lick a tear off my cheek._

 _"It's even more unfair to take another person down with you when they can live longer. Just promise me that, Nan. Promise you won't give up."_

 _I brush a tear from my face. "I promise."_

 _"Alright, thank you." He lowers his eyes. "I love you dearly, Anna."_

 _"I love you, too. Want me to read you Jane Eyre?" I shake him a little._

 _"Yeah," Charlie swallows again, tears rolling down his face, "What's going on in that damn house?"_

 ** _..._**

 _"Hey, Nan?" Nate calls up from the lower level of the cabin we share with him and his pregnant wife._

 _My head moves from side to side, sleepily as I wake up. I'm sitting on the floor outside our bedroom, since Charlie said it's not safe for me to sleep with him anymore. My back presses against the door. "Yeah?"_

 _"Isobel's making oatmeal, want any?"_

 _"No, thanks." I call back, loud enough for him to hear. Thud! I listen to the sound of something hitting the floor inside the room._

 _"What was that?" Nate asks._

 _"Nothing." I answer, but it is something. My dry throat constricts almost as tightly as my chest. I suspend my breathing when I hear what is unmistakably the growling of dead that heard noise. I close my eyes and tears break the horizon, making me quietly bawl in anguish._

 _Charlie snarls more, approaches the door, and bangs on it. I continue to break down as quietly as possible, but he knows I'm there and keeps jarring the door. "No, Charlie!" I wail, running my hands through my hair. Footsteps on the stairs stop a half way up the stairs, before hurrying up to the top._

 _"Shit." Nate says under his breath. He looks down at me with sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry, kid."_

 _I cry and stand up from the floor. "I-I can't do it." I distraughtly sob. "I can't go in there and-" The door budges again and my eyes shut, " and kill him."_

 _Nate hugs me and rocks slowly, shushing me as the snarling and rapping at the door continue._

 _"What's wro-" Isobel stops mid-sentence when she sees us. "Oh my god, Nan...I'm sorry."_

 _I pull myself from Nate, unsheathing my knife from my belt. "I-I need you to do it...please."_

 _He takes the knife from my hand and looks at the door. "Okay." Nate walks over to the door and takes deep breath before opening the door, nudging Charlie back with it like a shield. I hold Isobel as I listen to the growling, the sickening sound of blade meeting skull, the quiet, and then sliding motion of Nate lowering my dead onto the floor gently._

 _"It's okay, honey, shhh." Isobel comforts me as I cry even harder. At first, I can only see his legs, but Nate widens the view in order to get out of the room with a bloody knife in hand. There he lies. Dead and gone for good._

 **...**

A loud gasp escapes my mouth as I sit up in bed like an exorcized being. I wake crying and clasp a hand over my mouth as I hear Amber stir. I look at the clock and sob once more when I see it's well into midnight. It's the twelfth, his birthday.

I get up out of bed and use my shaky hands to ties my robe around me. I leave the room and instantly move to go to the bathroom with the intention of crawling into the empty tub. However, I stop when I hear a very faint singing.

 _'Your cheatin' heart,_

 _Will make you weep,_

 _You'll cry and cry,_

 _And try to sleep,_

 _But sleep won't come,_

 _The whole night through,_

 _Your cheatin' heart,_

 _Will tell on you.'_

I lightly foot my way towards Negan's room, which is opened. When I get there, I find it empty but the light's on. A chilling breeze snips at my flesh and I turn to look at the staircase that leads up to the roof.

 _'When tears come down,_

 _Like falling rain,_

 _You'll toss around,_

 _And call my name,_

 _"You'll walk the floor,_

 _The way I do,_

 _Your cheatin' heart,_

 _Will tell on you,'_

I climb the stairs to the propped open door and stop two steps to the top when I catch a glimpse of Negan. He's sitting in a chair he brought up with him, along with what looks like a turntable on the ground by him. Lucille is in hand, but the tip of her barrel is resting on the ground, grinding into the gravel when he thoughtfully turns her.

 _'You cheatin' heart,_

 _Will pine some day,_

 _And crave the love,_

 _You threw away,'_

Negan stands up from the chair, unaware of me in the doorframe.

' _The time will come,_

 _When you'll be blue,_

 _Your cheatin' heart,_

 _Will tell on-'_

 _SMASH!_ I jump a little as Negan brings Lucille down, hard, onto the record player, instantly quieting the singer. He pants, as if he's worn out from that one strike, and runs a hand down his face. He stops at his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose. Next, he glides the same hand over his mouth before sighing deeply.

I'm not sure what to do in this moment. It's like seeing a beast in the wild without its knowledge. He's just staring out at what I can only imagine to be nothing but the dark, midnight sky. After a minute, he exhales forlornly and turns, putting a hand on the chair to sit back down and that's when he glances over and spots me.

Our eyes are transfixed to one another and I feel stunned like a deer without a head start. _One- two- three- four- five._ My right foot steps back and I turn around, going down the stairs to go back to bed.

"Nan."

"Yes?" I murmur without looking back.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I'm super excited for the next one, even though I haven't begun writing it yet.**

 **Guest: I love that you empathized with Nan! I know it seems like Nan should be more resentful of Marisol, but it's not like she was going to make Marisol take the pill, you know? Selling herself, although she found it shameful, was to help Marisol and she did end up doing that.**

 **MoorishWoe: Yes, They're dynamic is strange. While some readers like the interaction between them, which I respect, I want their dynamic to be strange and maybe unsettling.**

 **JaliceJesla4eva: I'm glad you liked the chapter/ story!**


	28. Bump In The Road

The way you speak of yourself

The way you degrade yourself

into smallness

is abuse. -rupi kaur, _self harm_

* * *

I glance back at him from over my shoulder, as I stand about halfway to the bottom of the stairs, while he's at the top. Sorry? Does he even know the meaning of the word? _He's just telling you what he thinks you want to hear, so he can screw you._ His face is hard to read. It's neither apologetically expressive, nor is it so far removed that I can honestly say he's being insincere.

"Okay," I murmur after he doesn't say anything else, "Thank you." I continue down the stairs and the sound of his steps behind creates anxiety in me.

When I step out of the stairwell into the hall, I decide to go back to my room. "Nan?"

"Yeah?" I look down at my feet that shuffle, waiting for Negan to speak.

"Do you..." He clicks his tongue in thought. "Do you wanna come inside?"

 _Say no._ I clear my throat. "Sure." I turn around and go through the open door into the dimly lit room.

The stench of spilled whiskey is pungent and the bedding has been completely thrashed off the bed. "Watch your step." The door is closed and Negan walks past me, lazily swinging Lucille as he treads over the sheets and comforter to the dresser.

The calendar that usually lies on top of it is missing and it takes me a second to find it askew on the floor on the other side of the room. Shattered glass is also divided across the floor. How did I not notice any of this before?

I sit down in one of the chairs, studying him curiously. Negan leans Lucille kindly down against the dresser, before peeling off his leather jacket and tossing it on the bed. The wind whistles in through the top window and raises goose bumps on my skin, making me hold myself. "Um, Negan?"

"What?" He answers with his back to me.

"Are you okay?" I rasp.

Negan turns to face me and I'm shied by his blunt stare. "I'm fine," He looks towards the door, "Real fuckin' swell."

He sits down on the sofa across from me, but doesn't make eye contact. I don't understand what's going on here, but believe it or not, I think I want the other Negan back. I glance over at the unmade bed, sigh after a minute or two, then resign myself to put all the discarded bedding back onto the bed. I tip- toe through the broken glass and scoop up the entirety of the bed. I plop it down on the mattress and take his jacket off, nicely placing it over on the top of the dresser. My eyes just happen to glance over and avert when I see that he's watching me.

I make the bed, asking myself why he ripped it all off to begin with, while also deciding that I don't think I want to know. Probably just a temper tantrum from not getting his way earlier. I walk over to the other side of the bed to tuck the sheets in on that end.

"Ah!" A piece of glass jabs the arch of my foot. I quickly hobble over to the chair with the foot lop-sided to keep from pushing anything further in.

Once I sit down, Negan moves from the sofa to the coffee table. "Hold your foot out." I skeptically look him over before angling my foot for him. One hand holds my foot, while the other presses around the bloody wound. "Any sharp or gravel feeling?"

"Mm-mm." I shake my head, wincing at the pain of his inspection.

"Well, there's probably no glass inside, then." He diagnoses, getting up and going over to his nightstand.

"Probably?" I watch as he pulls a lunch box sized first aid kit from the drawer of the stand. "And if there actually is glass in my foot?"

Negan chuckles slightly as he sits back on the table, opening the kit. "If I'm wrong, we'll fuckin' find out eventually, won't we?"

We're quiet again as he saturates a gauze square in peroxide and presses it to the cut. I take a deep breath to get through the sting and I glance around the room to bide the bubbly sensation. "Why were you on the roof?" Our eyes meet briefly. "It's dangerous up there, you know."

He faintly smirks, but doesn't answer. Instead, he removes the reddish gauze from my foot and looks again at the cut. Negan then rests my foot on his leg, while he opens a butterfly band-aid.

"What happened in here?"

"Nothing." He answers, lightly tapping the band-aid into place with his middle finger.

 _Take the hint and stop talking._ "It's the twelfth."

Negan glances up at me with an aloof look on his face. "So?"

I take my foot from his leg and lay it on my knee to have a look for myself. "So...nothing." I know the state of this room has something to do with it being the twelfth of May, but I'm not gonna press any buttons. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He replies, balling up the band-aid wrappers.

"Are you gonna clean up the glass?"

"Later, maybe." He stands, tossing the garbage in the trash bin, and then has a seat on his almost made bed, which I received no thank you for, although I'd be fool to expect one.

I get up and with a tiny limp; I leave the room and go to the little broom closet, bringing back a broom and dustpan to his room. He's dressed down to his boxers, which I don't think I've ever seen him in. I've only ever seen him fully dressed, or naked, but never in some causal in between, unless he's in the process of getting naked. Frankly, it makes me uncomfortable, because it makes it feel like there's some normality to this sham.

"What are you doing?" He asks with a cocked eyebrow and hands on his knees.

"Cleaning up the glass," I begin sweeping the mess, "You said 'later' which means you were gonna wait until morning and have one of us do it, so I might as well do it now."

"Don't do that." He takes the broom from my hands and tosses it, creating a loud bang when the wooden handle hits the floor. I twist my mouth and lower my eyes. "I said I'd fucking do it later."

"It's dangerous." I argue demurely, raising my foot a little as proof.

Negan glimpses down, smiles, and breaks into a little laugh, which I can't help but to reciprocate. It's brief, because he stops it and gazes at me. "Maybe we should go to the bed, Cinderella," He suggests, "where it's safe."

"That's a bad pick up line." I retort with a yawn.

"It's not a line." He leans down and tenderly pecks me on the lips. Once, twice, and by the third time, he keeps his mouth on mine. I close my eyes; letting him use me like I knew he was planning to. Negan takes me to bed, sitting down with his legs parted for me to stand between.

I survey him as he sits before me with placid eyes and confidence. I waffle a bit, but I brave myself enough to lightly run my hand through his hair to see what he may do. He does nothing but stare at me, waiting.

In most cases, I might have pushed him onto his back and gotten on top of him, but I don't want to now. It might be the time of night, or the date, or the dream that woke me up and ultimately brought me to this point, but whatever the reason, I'm disinterested. He takes my wrist and pulls me closer to him, untying my robe, and then lustfully kissing my décolleté.

I back away. "Um," I shrug my shoulders that are sore from sleeping funny, "I don't really feel like it." Negan stops and furrows his eyes. "It's late and I'm tired."

Negan sighs through his nose, but nods. "Alright."

I go to tie my robe again. "I'll leave."

"No," He yanks my robe from off my shoulders, "I want you to stay."

I tiredly nod, climbing onto the bed and not waiting for him before getting myself under the covers. He shortly follows and while I don't feel bad for not giving him what he wanted, I move closer to him. He spies through the side of his eye what I'm doing and drapes his arm around me. "Are you really sorry, or did you just apologize so I'd have sex with you?"

"I don't say shit I don't mean," Negan answers, holding me by my elbow, "And if I did, it obviously didn't work out in my fuckin' favor."

I put my arm across him and close my eyes. "Guess not."

"You're a fucking thorn in my ass," He sighs heavily, "More trouble than you're fucking worth, I think."

"Divorce me, then."

"Mm, I don't know, you're good in bed and I don't like paper work."

"Why were up on the roof?" I murmur.

"Sh," Negan replies, "it's late and now I'm fuckin' tired."

"Okay, but just to be clear, you are sorry for wrongfully accusing me?"

"Jesus Christ, Nan. What do you want me to fucking do? Get on my knees like a bitch and fuckin' beg you to forgive me?"

"I'd be nice to see you on your knees for a change." I sleepily smile when he chuckles under me.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, baby, but that is not a sight you're gonna see anytime soon."

"Ditto." At that he laughs more heartily.

"You are something else," Negan shifts to the side slightly which puts my neck in the crook of his elbow, "That's why you're my favorite." He kisses me lightly.

"You said you didn't have a favorite." I put my hand on his chest, gazing up at him.

"I was lying." Negan pecks my lips again.

I sigh. "You just said you don't say things that you don't mean, so what am I suppose to make of you?" He smiles at me, running a hand up my thigh, but I push it away. "Do you just say whatever you think will get your dick wet sooner?"

"Have you not ever fucking said something to piss someone off before?"

I lick my lips irritably. "No, I have, but I never claimed to not be a liar."

"I'm not having this conversation with you," Negan lays back, "get the fuck over it, Nan."

"Fine." I turn away from him, pissed. What he does next is unnerving to me. Negan moves so that he's essentially spooning me and then wraps his arm around me.

"Move on," He sighs, caressing my leg, "yesterday was just a bump in the road."

 **...**

Later on in the morning, when the sun starts to rise, Negan tries again to engage with me in the maritals, but I say no because I'm groggy from whatever ailment I can't seem to shake as well as not going back to sleep until two. He asks me to at least stroke him, but I just get up from the bed, sleepily maneuver through the glass, and go to my room.

At breakfast, there isn't any syrup on the table which I lament at, because it's the only thing that'll help me stomach any of the other food that makes me want to blow chunks. I manage to eat some oatmeal, since it's the prepackaged kind that's flavored with maple and brown sugar.

I go back and forth between reading Jane Eyre and working on my embroidery for the rest of the morning in the drawing room with the girls. I don't necessarily get anywhere with either, distracted. Occasionally, I watch the clock, telling myself that I'll get up and go down to the infirmary by the next hour, only for the next hour to come and produce nothing from me. Charlie's birthday being today is kind of draining me of motivation to go anywhere, or do anything even though it'll take my mind off it.

"Is that a comic?" I ask, noticing Hazel holding what I thought was a brightly colored magazine.

She glances at the cover. "Um, yeah," She shyly answers, "It's The X-Men," She goes back to reading, "God, wouldn't life be so much easier to be a mutant and have powers?"

"Maybe," I bite the inside of my cheek, "but they always get ostracized by everyone else, don't they?"

"Yeah, but take a look around."

"What do you mean?"

Hazel rolls her eyes and smiles. "Every time we leave the top floor, we get judged for being what we are. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about." She reclines her feet up on the sofa, reading still. "Sure, no one really says anything and some will maybe act nice, but it's not real. As soon as we walk away, or turn our backs; they call us whores or sluts. Lazy bitches that couldn't hack it working for points, so we lie on our backs for the leader and take the easy way out. Like living with Negan is easy."

"You can say that again," I murmur, while pulling thread through and she laughs, "Well, I guess it just comes with the lingerie."

"Doesn't make it right," Hazel retorts, "Look, I know I chose to marry him when he asked, because I didn't want to wash clothes until my fingers cracked from the harsh fucking bleach that stung like hell. But if anyone thinks having sex with someone for your next meal is easy, then they don't know shit about anything."

I scoff. "Yeah, last time I checked, there isn't an unbruised pair of knees in this whole damn factory." I smile when she laughs.

"I like you a lot better than Sherry." She tells me. "I wasn't sure at first, you seemed a little frigid, but you're not so bad."

I glance up at the clock that's almost to one. "Was Sherry...pleasant to live with?" I really don't know too much about her, now that I think about it. Dwight never really went into detail about Sherry, except that they married shortly after high school.

"Mmm...Depends on what you define as pleasant."

"Was she easy to get along with?"

"Yeah, I guess," Hazel shifts her lips to the side, "She just... you know, she hated Negan, but I don't think she hated him in bed. She liked the power, I think."

"We don't have power," I argue, "We're just something warm to stick it into and a way of exerting power over every dick within a hundred mile radius."

"Well, maybe being screwed by the one person who has all the power over every dick in a hundred mile radius was appealing."

"Maybe." I say indifferently.

Tonya, who's within earshot and has no doubt heard the whole conversation, gives Hazel a look. "I think there's a saying about not speaking ill of the dead."

"I didn't say anything 'ill' of her," Hazel sits up, "I just thought she liked going to bed with him is all. It's whatever, you know? She saved her husband from dying. That's...admirable."

Frankie clears her throat and I realize that the other three are now attentive on the subject. "I don't think we should discuss that." Her eyes flicker to me and then back at Hazel.

"Oh my god." Hazel shakes her head and goes back to reading her comic.

"It's okay," I assure Frankie, "Dwight was just a fling. I don't care about him." I can see from their faces that I might not have been convincing.

"Negan told Sherry that Dwight was screwing a pretty girl who was, 'at least', four years younger than her." Amber chimes in, drinking some wine.

"Amber." Tonya shakes her head for her to stop.

"What?" Amber makes a face. "He's not here." She looks back to me. "Sherry was upset, but she said she didn't care if Dwight was screwing some random floozy. But I know she asked him about it and I didn't tell Negan about that." She takes another drink. _Floozy?_

"Amber, maybe you should slow down on the wine, hm?" Frankie suggests politely, but firmly. Danica apparently agrees, because she moves the bottle.

"She's dead, _Francine_." Amber snickers, inebriated. "I trusted her and she made me tell her about Mark and I. And she just tells Negan...just like that."

"She didn't really have a choice," Tonya defends, "Negan was going to know the truth no matter what."

"I never told him about how Dwight and Sherry use to meet in the stairwell," Amber's eyes get glossy and she stands, wobbling a little, "They met at least once a week, up until you." I glance down at my project, embarrassed and regretting the disharmony I caused. "She came in to our room one afternoon and shoved her clothes rack down, crying. She said that Dwight didn't show up the day before when he said he would. The next time, he told her that you got into a fight with this guy and he had to make sure you didn't get into more trouble." Amber leaves the drawing room and shuts our bedroom door behind her.

There's a thick silence in the room for a while. I stand up at about one- thirtyish and decide now's a perfect time to finally go see Harlan.

 **...**

When I enter the fourth floor, the pungent odor of cleaner and what I think is blood fills the air. I cover my nose and mouth, trying to ignore the foul smell and the stinging in my eyes. My stomach lurches and I uncontrollably expel breakfast onto the floor of the hall right before the infirmary. I look around and see none of the moppers that would usually take care of this. Shit, I'm going to have to clean it myself.

I get into a closet that, to my luck, already has a mop and bucket with suds and water. I wheel it over to the spot where I tossed oatmeal and plop the soaked mop down on the floor, dully swaying it back and forth, dunking it back into the bucket a few times, and then sloshing somewhat dirty water onto the floor. It's a little therapeutic. Focusing on the task at hand, alleviates the troubling emotions that may forever plague this specific day, as well as the ones sustained from not only the strange encounter with Negan around midnight, but from what I've been told about how he purposely tried to hurt Sherry by telling her about Dwight and I.

One might argue that his intent was not to hurt her, but to inform her. To that person, I would say; but what sort of purpose would there be in telling your wife that her ex-husband was nailing a younger woman, if not to hurt her? Negan's mostly insensitive to people's feelings, but he isn't a stupid man. He meant it to stick her, because he loves fucking with people and probably to remind her that her marriage to Dwight was really over. He tried to do the same thing with me yesterday and had I not pretty good evidence that Dwight may have told a lie to help Laura, I would've been upset, too.

I roll my aching shoulders and decide to wheel the mop and bucket back to the closet. The wetness under foot has me realize that I did not put shoes on before I left. I think more on the subject.

 _But he was true to you very early this morning_ ; the Negan advocate might point out. _Some things can't be faked and he was being sincere._ True, I'd say to that, but even though it confounds me, I know that soon it won't matter because he'll do or say something that'll crush all niceties that he extends.

My pathetic, imaginary debate with myself is cut short by a whistled tune coming down the left end of the hall. I glance over and see Keller and another Savior heading my way. I haven't seen Keller in a really long time; it's almost nice to see him. Him and the younger man both give me a look as they notice me putting the mop and bucket away in the closet.

"Hello." I awkwardly put my hands behind my back, as if I'm up to something.

"Ma'am." Keller says with his subtle Tennesee accent. The two men pass me and I lag behind them to go to the infirmary. Once they get to the infirmary door, they stop and I accidentally collide into the other guy.

"Uh, sorry." I oddly whisper.

Keller gives me the up and down with a raised brow. "Ma'am?"

I stop myself from rolling my eyes at his "ma'am"ing. "I was going in there." I point to the door.

"You might want to reconsider." He warns me, pounding his fist on the door.

"Why?"

"Some stupid shit that works the fences got tripped up by a rotter and fell back on some rebar," The other one answers with no hint of pity in his tone, "pierced straight through the gut." He pretends to be impaled and chuckles.

"Hey, Alex?" Keller speaks, knocking on the door again, causing Harlan to shout that he's coming from inside.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you shut the fuck up?" Keller glances back at me. "It's a mess in there, so you-" The door opens abruptly.

"Gentlemen," Harlan dries his wet hands on a hand towel, "Go ahead." Both men go in and Harlan remains out in the hall, taking notice of me. "Hello, again."

"Hi." I manage to say; trying not to puke again from the terrible mixture of blood and bleach that hit me as soon as the door opened.

"Are you alright?"

"Um," I stop when Keller and the other Savior exit with a dead body horizontally between them," I was actually coming down to talk to you about an exam. I think I might be sick."

Harlan looks me over. "Right," He says slowly, " Well, I'd be happy to tell you what's ailing you, but I need to finish cleaning and sterilizing the room, first."

"Oh, yeah. Of course." I sniff back the tears produced from the strong chemicals. "When should I come by?"

"How about you come by tomorrow? First thing in the morning?" He kindly suggests.

"Okay," I move pass the door, "First thing tomorrow."

I go down towards the front of the factory, not wishing to go back so soon to the top floor after the little spat that went on. Amber really seemed resentful of Sherry for telling Negan about her and Mark, but, to be fair, Tonya did have a valid point. Negan wouldn't have asked if he hadn't already had a suspicion, or hadn't heard something about it from elsewhere. _He didn't give you the benefit of the doubt with his baseless suspicions._ But I guess, Sherry didn't have to rat Amber out either. It reminds me of the conversation she had with Dwight in the stairwell. She wouldn't straight up admit to him that she was to blame, but she did seem really upset about it.

Negan's loud mouth can be heard by time I make it down from the second floor, even though he's not raising his voice in any atypical manner. He's talking to Reed, who's looking down at his clipboard. Reed nods and speaks, indicating to something over by the quarters. Negan doesn't seem happy, but his spirits pick up when he looks over and sees me. _Great._ He waves me over and I pad over to him and Reed. His eyes travel downward and stay puzzled there.

"Shoes?" Is what he says to me when I get to him, humored.

"I forgot." I smile bleakly at Reed.

Reed doesn't smile back, but that doesn't mean anything with him. "So, you want me to replace him ASAP?"

Negan looks back at Reed. "Yes, but whoever you choose can finish their day doing whatever fucking task they do now."

"Gotcha." Reed heads off.

Before Negan says anything more, the radio on his belt statics and Simon's voice calls out. "We're coming up on home, so open up and let us in."

Negan takes the radio in hand. "Whatcha got for me? Good shit, I hope."

"The very best." Simon answers back.

Negan smiles at me, clipping the radio back on his belt. "What, my dear, are you doing? Taking a walk? I don't know if that's a good idea, since you tend to fall asleep in random bedrooms."

I roll my eyes at his joking. "I was going to see the doctor, but the infirmary was a nightmare, so I have to wait until tomorrow."

"Ain't that a pity someone died and inconvenienced you." He smiles sarcastically and draws attention from some workers passing.

I avert my eyes away from theirs. "That's not what I meant." I murmur, clawing at my thumb. "You're replacing him?" I ask out of discomfort.

"I like to have an even number of fence workers," Negan drapes his arm over my shoulder, directing me towards the door, "Someone's gotta fuckin' step up and fill that position."

 _Like you did for Sherry._ I wiggle my nose acridly. "Well, what if nobody wants that job?"

Negan snickers as he opens the door for the two of us, blinding me with the harsh sunlight. "Life's not always about what you want...it's about what _I_ fucking want." He laughs to himself.

I visor my eyes from the sun with my hand, ignoring Negan's fingers traipsing my shoulder. "What do the letters mean?"

He looks out at the workers scrambling to maintain the dead. "Marks where they come from. Some of those guys work here as leverage."

I think about Daryl and the 'A' suit he wore. A for Alexandria. "That one?" I point to the man who, like some of the others, has an 'S' sprayed on his suit.

"Sanctuary, genius."

"But they all live in the quarters," I look at him and he grins back, "They earn points, too. So, aren't they integrated into our community?"

"If that worker," Negan points to the guy I just pointed to, "fucks up. He's has to answer for it." He points to another with a letter that's hard to decipher on his back. "If that one fucks up, he also has to answer for it."

"So, what's the difference?" The sound of Simon's truck distracts me for a second.

"If his friends fuck up, he has to answer for their mistakes, too. Maybe vice versa."

"Hardly fair." I conclude.

"Keeps 'em in line." Negan heads down the steps, stopping only to look to see if I'm coming. _Except with Daryl._

I glance briefly at Simon's truck pulling in and then at Negan. "I'm gonna go back inside."

 **...**

Marisol is in her quarter, under the plaque '51', eating what look like Cheezits. She has a morose look on her face that lets me know that she's aware that Simon is here.

"Hi." I stand just outside the quarters, not wanting to invade her space.

"What do you want?" She's a very straightforward girl.

"Simon's here," I state the obvious, "He may be staying a night or two."

"Yeah?" She reaches into a laundry basket that's organized to hold her food and sundries. "Is that right?" She fishes out a prenatal vitamin.

"Are you going to be okay?" I watch unpleasantly as she bitterly swallows the pill down with some water.

Marisol runs her tongue along her bottom lip. "I don't have a choice, do I?" She stands up. "Once he finds out, he'll write me off. I'll struggle to raise his baby, while he won't have fucking a care in the world." She speaks about him like they were in a serious relationship.

"You really liked him." I repeat what she told me the other day.

"I'm not in love with him, or whatever," Marisol walks out of the quarter and turns towards the mechanic's yard, "He was good in bed and it helped me make ends meet. It just sucks, you know?"

"Yeah." I look over my shoulder towards the front.

"I get that kids aren't for everyone, but then maybe pull out if you aren't gonna take responsibility." She continues to quietly rant. "I didn't care that everyone talked about it behind my back, but now that I'm pregnant which I can't hide forever...it'll be tenfold."

"People should mind their own business." I bitterly state, reminded of when I still lived in the quarters.

Marisol stops went she hears his voice. We both look back and see Simon and Negan talking. "I have to tell him, I guess."

"Yeah."

She looks worriedly at me. "Do you think there's a small, microscopic chance that he won't turn me away?"

I bite my lip. "I don't know," I admit, "but I wouldn't get my hopes up too much."

"Right." Her eyes widen and she lowers her head. I turn in the direction she looked and, fucking hell, Simon's walking with Negan and Dwight this way. _Fuck._ Negan's face expresses confusion upon seeing me.

"You should go back to work." I tell her and she does so.

"Marisol!" _Double fuck._ Simon calls out and she hesitates, but turns around. He walks pass me and goes right up to her. She gives him a smile that is not so real and Simon talks low, so I can't hear what's being said.

"Is that the gal I should thank for fuckin' making our three- way possible?" Negan asks gleefully, causing me to look directly at Dwight in humiliation.

Marisol surprises me when she passes the three of us, going in the opposite direction from the mechanic's yard. My eyes bounce from Simon to Negan to Dwight in confusion. "I have to pee."

"How lady-like of you to share that with us." Negan laughs, but I'm already on my way after Marisol.

"Hey!" I catch up to her at her quarter. "What are you doing?"

She doesn't acknowledge me as she digs out some shampoo and soap from her basket. "Simon asked if I could pay him a visit in an hour. Gave me leave to take the rest of the day off."

"And you're going?" I ask in disbelief.

Marisol shrugs and leaves the quarter with her shower supplies. "I have to tell him I'm pregnant, don't I?"

"He's expecting to sleep with you, Marisol." I follow her, "I don't think you should go."

"How else am I gonna tell him?"

"Tell him outside his room," I suggest, scoffing, "You can't go in. It's not a good idea."

"Yeah, you're the goddess of wisdom, right?" She retorts in a bland sarcasm.

"On this kind of thing, yeah." I stop her by the shoulder in the stairwell. She furrows her eyebrows at my hand and then stares at me. I take my hand away. "If you go into his room with him, you'll end sleeping with him, and it'll only make it harder for you to tell him and then it'll be worse when he kicks you to the curb."

Marisol's expression falters with her beautiful brown eyes starting to water. "I-"

"I know, " I claim, "I know what it's like to like someone who just doesn't like you back the same way." I take a deep breath. "I know what it's like to not be the only one. It's hard, because you want to be that one person who they'll...like more than the others. Even give the others up for you."

"Are you talking about Negan?" She asks me.

I look back at the door we just came through and sigh. "No, but I guess he's a good example."

"You like him?" Marisol almost sounds repulsed.

"Never mind him," I shake my head, "What I'm trying to say is that as much as you want to be that girl, you won't be. None of the others are that girl either, because Simon doesn't care about any of you." My throat feels raw. "He told you he didn't want children and you know, for fact apparently, that he won't change his mind."

Despite the tough girl facade, Marisol's face scrunches up and tears fall down. "He said I was beautiful, all the time. Said I was his favorite and he'd let me sleep in his bed with him sometimes, which was against his rules."

"He was using you." A painful feeling swells in my chest.

"I'm so stupid." She adds, wiping her face.

"You're not." I assert gently, startling a little when the door to stairwell opens. Dwight comes through and looks at both of us. I usher Marisol to climb the stairs and she tries to straighten up, but she silently sobs as we go. I peek behind us and see Dwight look off to the side as he comes up a few paces behind us. Once we're on the second floor, I let him pass us and he goes away down the hall.

Marisol sniffs. "I'm such a dumb whore."

Her voice gains my attention from the other end of the hall. "Don't talk about yourself like that," I snap as we stand in the hall, "You're a human being, okay? Give yourself a break."

"I got knocked up by a guy who I let screw me for a few little luxuries here and there, and now I have to worry about taking care of his child by myself. "

"You made that choice." I remind her kindly. "You said you could do it."

"I can, but...I wouldn't have to if I hadn't ever made such a dumb fucking choice." Marisol starts to walk down the hall.

 _Oh, lord, what am I doing?_ "So you made some bad choices," I roll my eyes at myself for using Negan's words to help Marisol, "make better choices now, because the present is what matters."

She glances over at me, before entering the showers. "You think that's true?"

"I do," I smile, troubled by our whole conversation, "Don't go into his room. You deserve better than to be chewed up and spit out." My thumb is a bloody mess. "Even if you think you don't, you do. Forgive yourself. Whatever hurt that will come from Simon rejecting you is just a bump in the road."

"It's hard move past a bump in the road, when you are that bump." She half- jokes. "I have so much to think about."

"It'll all work out," I must be on a roll, because she doesn't scoff, "It'll be hard, but you'll find a way."

"Thanks." She smiles, wipes her eyes, and goes into the showers, while I stand out in the hall, disturbed.

 **...**

I look down, distressingly at my embroidery, which is a few stitches away from being finished; as I sit cross- legged on my bed. I didn't go to dinner tonight, not hungry after the talk I had with Marisol. All those things I said to her...why did I never say them to myself? It's exactly what Charlie told me before he died. To forgive myself and that _I_ was a human being. That _I_ deserved compassion and kindness just as much as any other, despite the choices I made in the past. Why have I always spoken to myself so harshly?

Amber comes in, slightly staggering over to her bed. "My head hurts."

"Need an aspirin?" I ask, sliding off my bed.

"Yes, but I don't want to go get it." She plops down on her bed, one hand dangling off.

"I'll go get it for you." I sigh, quietly leaving to go to Negan's room. Don't ask me why the aspirin is only in Negan's room, God knows we have tons of it, but up here, we only have a bottle in his nightstand drawer. I don't knock before entering, figuring he's probably not doing anything important because of the hour.

At first, I don't even see him, but stepping in, I instantly notice of him sitting in the chair closest to the window. I've never seen him sit there. His jacket is off and I see the first aid kit open on the table. "What?" He asks without looking.

I clear my throat. "Can I have an aspirin?"

He glances over his shoulder and that's when I see that he's just finished re- bandaging his wrist from all the scraps on the table. Negan points to the nightstand drawer and I walk over, sit on the bed, and open the drawer. "Headache?" He chuckles. "I haven't even asked you if wanted to have sex, yet."

"It's for Amber," I twist the top off the bottle and tap a pill into my hand, "She's...got a headache."

"Probably from hitting the bottle so fucking early." He stands and treads over with the kit in hand. "I think an intervention and a booze drought is in her near future."

I watch him as he sticks the first aid kit in the drawer. "...You're concerned she's drinking too much?"

"I'm getting tired of fuckin' seeing her trip over herself and hugging the fuckin' can."

"Oh." I nod, closing the pill in my hand. Why did I think he'd be actually concerned? "Well, I'm gonna take this to her."

Negan stops me. "Let her wait."

I let him draw me close and can smell his cologne. _Stop it._ "Um, it'll just take a second." I slip away. "I'll come back, just-" I leave before I finish, heading to my room.

I carefully open the door and peak over at Amber, who's asleep in her dress on her stomach. I grab the wastebasket and set down it by her bedside, before grabbing a hair tie to try to pull her hair back into a ponytail, in the event that she wakes up and vomits. After leaving the aspirin on the vanity, I exit. _Don't go back._ Negan's taking his boots off when I reenter. My breathing picks up as I close the door.

"I'm back." I say bleakly.

"What's with the pouty, moping look on your face?" He pats the bed. "Is it because it's your dead boyfriend's birthday, or whatever?"

What would normally send me over the edge doesn't phase me. _I'm not the one who trashed a turntable and my room over "nothing."_ I numbly stare at him. "I'm not moping."

"That why you skipped dinner?" Negan presses. "Far be from you to miss a meal."

"I'm not moping." I repeat, going over to the bed and turning around so he can unzip my dress.

"Sure you are," He slips his hand into the open slit in my dress, "aside from depleting our syrup supply, you're favorite thing to do is mope around."

I look at him. "I didn't mope around today," tugging the dress over my head since it's easier than trying to pull it down, "I helped a...friend."

"By offering up some sage wisdom?" He mocks, unbuckling his belt.

"Yeah," I stand before him with an unusual feeling veiling over me, "maybe." I crawl onto the bed and when I feel his hand graze my hips, I turn over onto my back.

"And what mind-blowing advice did you give to that hot mechanic?" He rolls over on top of me.

 _To not let a man use you._ "Girl stuff." I wiggle out of my underwear. _And to be kind to yourself._

Negan laughs and then places his mouth on my jaw, moving to my cheek and then to my lips. His erection pokes my leg and I hold the sides of his ribs as he sticks it in me, moaning in my ear with a hot breath. "Anna."

I turn my head away when he starts to thrust, staring at the dark wall. _What are you doing? Marisol believed what you said._ I close my eyes when he bucks harder and a discomforted sigh exits through my nose.

"Hey." His voice calls, so I look at him.

"Hm?"

"What's wrong with you?"

My brows furrow. "Nothing." I slide one of my legs up.

Negan looks off a little frustrated, but keeps going. I stare up at him, searching him for something I'm not sure is even possible. I can tell Negan's getting pissed at my lack of participation, but I can't shake all the burdensome thoughts. After a while, he lowers his head and lets out a grunt, before getting off me. I felt his penis soften inside me, which makes me panic inwardly.

I crane my head to view my lower half. "Did you...did you finish?"

"Nope." He rubs his temple. "You're fucking dead fish act kind of fucking killed the mood."

Oh. I let out a relieved sigh, much to his annoyance. Maybe I'm a mutant and my power is causing flaccidity in men. I sit up and look over at his unhappy expression. I hesitate before putting my hand on his shoulder. "If you want, I can-"

"I don't want you to fucking do anything." He curtly snaps.

I retract my hand and settle both in my lap, looking towards Lucille against his dresser. "It happens to everyone."

"Nan!" Negan gives me an icy look. "I don't need you to fucking inform me on shit."

I lift my brow at him incredulously. "Don't be so damn sensitive." My mouth contorts to try and fight away a smile.

"You can fucking get the fuck out." Negan sits himself up on his elbow, still glaring.

I lie back. "Oh, c'mon, " I try to joke, shifting towards him, "it went fell down, it didn't fall off. Fucking relax, Negan."

Negan's grave expression makes me diminish my smile and start to inch the other way to leave. His hand scoops up my arm and he tugs me back with a laugh. "You think you can just say whatever the fucking fuck you want to me, huh?"

When I see his amused smile, I cautiously grin back. "I was trying to cheer you up, but you're an asshole."

"I know," He scoots himself closer to me, "but being an asshole doesn't keep you from coming." He chuckles at the double entendre.

"No, but a limp dick might." I quip and he laughs even louder.

"You are skating on thin fuckin' ice," Negan begins to kiss me again to heat things up, "but I like you, so I'm gonna let it slide." He bounces back quickly.

"You like me?" My hand feels the virile warmth of his bicep. "Or you like screwing me?"

"I think you like that I like screwing you." He snickers, moving his mouth down to my breast.

"You just like fucking women in general." I sigh as his hand roams to my lap.

"You are abso-fuckin'-lutely correct about that," He smirks, gazing into my eyes, "But you are a well that never dries up, which is lucky for me, because I am always thristy." _Ew, who says things like that?_

I kiss him back when he tenderly, hungrily put his mouth to mine. _Snap out of it._ I shift under him, putting a hand out to stop him. "Um, I'm feeling a little dizzy," Negan looks bewilderingly down at me, "I think I just want to go to bed."

He leans back until. "Alright."

"I think I'm gonna go back to my bed."

"Okie dokie," Negan scratches his chest hair, "Would you be a doll and get Frankie for me?"

It hits me, but not in the same way it did the last time. "Sure." I put my bra and panties on, before gathering up my dress and walking out.

 **...**

The next morning, Negan's perfectly himself, while I come to terms with the fact that what I said to Marisol definitely applies to me as well. Regardless, I'm famished and devour a stack of pancakes, some fruit, bacon, and toast with jam and butter; syrup was present on everything. I wash it all down with milk. Negan takes a crack at me eating like I'm sentenced to die today. I ignore him and continue to eat, while listening to the small talk of the others.

I shower after breakfast before I head down to the infirmary to see Harlan. I grab my toothbrush, but accidentally knock the holder off the counter when doing so. "Damn it."

I get down on my knees when I see it rolls underneath the counter. I tilt my head to peer under and that's when I spot not only the toothbrush holder, but also a small, light green book. I grab up both and assume that the book must be the one Tonya's been looking for.

Her and Frankie's bedroom door is open when I approach. I knock lightly on the frame. She turns and instantly smiles when she sees the journal in my hand. "I, uh, found it under the sink." I hand it to her.

"Oh my god," She rolls her eyes, "it must have fallen under there when I was getting a tampon, or something."

She hurriedly flips through the pages. I don't know why I curiously stand there and watch her move her finger along the little handwritten squares, counting them under her breath. "Is everything okay?"

Tonya continues counting for a few more seconds before letting out an alleviating sigh, putting her hand on her chest. "Thank god." She glances at my perplexed face, and then closes the book. "I use it to keep track of my period," She explains in a low voice, "I thought I was late, but it's okay. I have another week."

"Oh, okay," I nod in understanding, "well, I'm going to get dressed." Tonya thanks me and I grin, turning around to go to my room. Her relief reminds me of what she told me the night of my wedding to Negan. How accidents happen and how I thought something like that had happened last night.

Amber groans when I close the door. "Don't slam the door."

"I didn't." I claim, walking over to the curtains and closing them to spare her the light. She stumbles to get up and puts her hand out on the wall to steady herself.

I hear something fall to the floor when I'm getting my dress on. "Shit! Hey, can you get my calendar for me?"

I twist my upper half and find that she's managed to knock the calendar off the wall and over by the stand mirror. "Yeah."

Amber suddenly covers her mouth. She whimpers and then runs out of the room, despite there being a waste bin right by her. I go over to mirror and pick up the calendar, looking at it. I set it down, proud of myself for not breaking down yesterday like I thought I would. Instead of consuming myself with Charlie's death on his birthday, I helped Marisol and maybe even myself find some clarity.

The zipper on the side of my dress won't budge a centimeter pass my hips, making me struggle to get it up. "Fuck!" I gripe, giving up and putting my hands on my hips in irritation. I look at my reflection and feel my added weight. My belly is a little protruded and I can...

I touch my stomach and glance back at the calendar, thinking of Marisol and again of what Tonya said. I snatch up the calendar and flip the previous page over, and then the next one after that. When was the last time I had my period? I go over to my trunk and flip it open, taking the sweater out and hastily pulling it over my willful dress. My heart rate picks up like Morse code. I turn to the side, staring at myself in the mirror a few feet away.

All the sickness, the eating, the fatigue, the crying, the weight...fuck! No. I'm just working myself up for nothing. I'm drawing groundless conclusions. On the verge of having a serious breakdown, I grab up my shoes and head out to see the doctor.

 **...**

I pace back and forth like a nervous wreck outside the infirmary, arriving there before Harlan. I've bitten down my nails to shit and my thumb is my victim. It's not hot in the factory, it never is, but I'm sweating bullets. Every sound, every footstep has me whipping my head down the hall where I know he'll come from. _Oh, god, this isn't happening._

Finally, after I've paced a grave for myself in the hall, Harlan comes into sight, making his way to me with a mug in his hand. "Good morning." He smiles sincerely.

"Hi." I stand back sheepishly when he takes his key to the infirmary out and unlocks the door, entering before me.

"Come in." He invites me and I take a deep breath before going in. "So," Harlan sets down his coffee with his back turned to me, "You haven't been feeling well?"

"Um, yeah." I fiddle with the sleeves of my sweater, tasting blood in my mouth after peeling skin from my lip with my teeth in an anxious fit.

Harlan shifts around and sees that I'm bothered. "How long have you not been feeling well?"

I look up at my forehead to recollect, but I can't really grasp an exact amount of time. "Uh, I'm not really sure. A few weeks?"

He nods, eyeing my frame. "Can you tell me some of the symptoms you've been experiencing?"

I walk with noodle- like legs over to the exam table and prop myself onto it. "...Um," My head is in a state of disarray, "I've been sick a lot. Like throwing up."

"Every day?" Harlan goes into the bathroom and washes his hands with the door open.

"No, not everyday, but I do feel nauseous most days." I study his calm demeanor as he moves across the room, getting into a drawer and pulling some things out.

"Okay, what else?" He approaches me with a thermometer.

"I've been really tired a lot lately, but I'm sleeping at night." I open my mouth and let the thermometer sit under my tongue until it beeps.

Harlan takes it out and glances down with furrowed brows. "98.6, " He reads, "perfect temperature. Any other symptoms?"

"I've been either really hungry, or I don't even want to eat." I rasp, as he wraps my arm and take my blood pressure. "I've been kind of sensitive to smells."

"Blood pressure's normal, too." He grabs his stethoscope, "Alright, let's listen to your lungs."

I take my sweater off and fight the zipper that now doesn't want to go down. I manage to win this time and bring the top half off and he gives me a smock to cover myself in case that someone should come in.

"Breathe in," He instructs, touching the cold metal to my chest, "and breathe out. Breathe in...and out." He repeats the process, putting the stethoscope on my back. The deep breaths help me somewhat calm down, but I know that once he says that my breathing's fine, tears will come. "Well..."

"Nan."

"Yes, of course, my apologies," Harlan takes the stethoscope away, "Well, Nan, I can't seem to find anything out of the ordinary, so far."

I mouth an 'okay' and nod my head.

"Have you noticed any recent weight loss, or..." He looks me in the eye, "weight gain?"

I nod again. "I've put on some weight." It's becoming clear to me that he's already coming to the same conclusion that I am.

"Can I ask when your last cycle was?" He crosses his arms, waiting patiently for my reply.

I swallow the lump in my aching throat. "I don't know." I comfortingly tuck my hands between my legs.

Harlan nods, going over to the medicine cabinet. He produces a little rectangular box with a logo I've seen before whenever I'd go down the feminine hygiene isle at the pharmacy. He opens it and lets the stick slide out gingerly. He puts the box down and then, looking at me, extends the test towards me. "I don't know if you've used one of these before, but if not, you're going to go into the bathroom, take this part off," He points to an end, "and you're gonna urinate on it and then you can bring it out and we'll wait three minutes for the results."

While I didn't necessarily need the run down on how this works, I still let him explain it to me before taking it and going into the bathroom. I close the door and have to gather myself before setting the stick down on the sink, reaching both hands up my dress, pulling my underwear down, and then I sit on the toilet. My hand trembles as I take the test and lower it under me. I wait for a stream of pee and place the right end under it.

After washing my hands, I leave the bathroom and bring the test with me. I distance myself from it by setting it down on the table next to the exam table. Harlan looks at his watch and crosses his arms again.

"Are you okay?" He asks politely.

"Yes." I lie; faking a smile that I can tell doesn't convince him. "Are you, um, adjusting well here?"

"I'm doing alright." He faintly smiles.

It's funny how slow three minutes can drag by when you're relying on them. My thoughts bounce of the walls, thinking about everything and everyone all at once at such a rate, I can't even focus on a single thing.

"Alright," Harlan finally says, "It's time." He looks at me, then down at the test, and then back at me; signaling for me to confront the test.

I pick the test up and hold it up to my eye line, reading the results. _Oh my god._

* * *

 **Thank you so much for all favorites, follows, and reviews! I really enjoy reading the feedback! To all the questions and theories surrounding what will be either denied, or confirmed in next chapter, let me just say that I will try to answer them all to the best of my abilities next update.**


	29. Pink Plus

**Content Warning: Domestic violence.**

* * *

I stare the pregnancy test with dismal response to the results, as I try to determine whether I'm seeing this correctly. Harlan clears his throat and breaks me from my dazed state. My head turns to him and I lower my rigid arm. "It's, um..." my voice sounds husky from being dry, "it's a pink plus." I tilt the stick his way so he can see. "And a pink plus means..."

"A pink plus means congratulations," Harlan finishes with a small smile, "you're pregnant."

"Yeah." I nod with a heavy sigh, putting a hand on my forehead. _Oh my god, oh my god this can't be real._

"Are you alright?"

"I'm just a little, uh, nauseous." More than a little. More like epically floored.

Harlan goes to the cabinet and comes back with a flat, smooth tablet. "Here's an antacid. It's chewable, but if you want I can make you some tea."

I pop the minty antacid in my mouth and nod timidly like a child. "Thank you."

"Let me go back to my room real quick and get some hot water." He heads for the door and promptly leaves.

I sit alone in the room, trying my hardest not to have a panic attack. _Pregnant?_ Me? No, this can't be happening. It has to be a dream! My brain darts from one end to the other, attempting to make sense of this. Pregnant... with Negan's child?

Right as I'm about to lose it, I compose myself as the door opens and Harlan comes back in. He's got a mug with the string of a teabag hanging over one end; steam looms softly out from the top. "It's, uh," He reads the little paper tab on the end of the string, "Cozy Chamomile." Harlan hands me the warm, black mug. "It's good for upset stomachs as well as...upset people."

I take a small sip, not caring that it burned my tongue. "I'm surprised is all," I hold the mug on my knee, "I didn't know."

Harlan folds his arms and sits on his swivel chair. "I kind of figured that yesterday when you thought you were sick," He takes up his clipboard, "I knew, or at least suspected, when I first met you a few days ago."

I'm recall that he asked me if I "wanted anything" when I came with Marisol. "How did you know?"

"I was an OBGYN before the fall," Harlan informs me, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I can spot a pregnant woman a mile away. Even in the early stages."

"Um, how far along am I?"

"Well, I can examine you...but I'd have to ask you to pull your dress up a little, if that's okay." I can tell by the leeriness of his tone, Harlan's a little apprehensive. No doubt he's heard what happened to the last doctor, even though Carson didn't really do anything.

I take the smock he gave me when he listened to my lungs and drape it over my lower half. I lift my dress up and expose my belly. "Okay," I take a trembling breath," go ahead."

Harlan nods, and then scoots his chair over. I watch, as he looks me over, not really touching me. Looking down at my stomach, I feel stupid. How could I have not known? All the symptoms were right there in front of me the whole time and I didn't see it. Not getting my period should have been a huge red flag, but I guess I forgot to think about my monthly visitor with all the crap that's been going on in my life for the past few months.

"I'd say that you're about eight to ten weeks."

"Eight to ten weeks?"

"Yeah, it'd be easier to tell if I had the ultrasound unit I had back at Hilltop, but from a glancing perspective; I'd say eight to ten." Harlan picks up his clipboard again, writing.

"What are you writing down?"

"I'd like you to come in every two weeks, if that's alright," He says, "I'm mapping it out for you, so you can keep track."

"Okay..." Something suddenly flickers in my head," Um, can you not put the test down on the logs?"

He glances up at me quizzically. "I'm sorry?"

"I know you have to, " I slide myself off the table, straightening out my dress, "but could you maybe wait two days?"

"Two days? I don't understand."

 _Don't tell him anything_. "You said I'm about eight to ten weeks?"

"Yes, approximately."

"Um..." I look over at the door, "It, the baby, I mean, might not be his."

Harlan's furrowed brows flinch upward in shock. "You mean your husband's?"

I cringe. "Yes...Negan. It might not be his." My heart pounds against my chest. "It might be someone else's."

The doctor's face reminds me that I'm putting him in not only an uncomfortable position, but a dangerous one. "I, uh... it's none of my business, but I can't omit information that has to be documented for inventory."

"I know and I'm not asking to. I'm asking you to just hold off on it for a couple days and I'll come back and sign it."

"Nan, I-"

"I've only been married to Negan for about two months," I explain, "I was with someone else before and, um...we had an accident and I thought we were fine, but maybe not."

Harlan nods, still troubled. "How long ago was this...accident?"

I go over to his desk and pick up the calendar, flipping the pages and scanning my eyes over the X-ed out weeks. _Oh my god._ "About ten weeks ago." I sigh, looking up at the ceiling for help.

"I see."

I turn to him. "I know what I'm asking could you get into trouble, but please..." I can feel tears start to well up as I beseech this man who's a practical stranger. "I just need two days to figure things out"

"Figure things out?"

"Yes, I-I just...I need to be able to break it to Negan and I just need some time to think about how to do that."

He sighs heavily after a moment and nods. "Okay," He runs a hand through his hair, "I won't log it for two days, but if you don't come back by then, I'm gonna put it down with or without your say so."

I immediately put my hand out. "You have my word." Harlan hesitates, but ultimately takes my hand. "Thank you."

"I was going to offer prenatal vitamins, but I guess-"

"I'll come back for them. In two days." I tug my sweater over my head.

"Would you like to take the test with you?" His face is still uneasy, despite agreeing to my plan. "I'll toss it in the garbage, if not."

"No," I eye the stick on the table, "I'll take it." I snatch it up and hide it in one of the small pockets on my dress. I look over at the doctor. "I promise that it won't come back on you."

He gives me a disconcerting look before I walk with false confidence to the door and leave. As soon as I close the door, I feel a deep sense of vulnerability.

 **...**

When I get up to the top, I practically tip- toe to my room, praying that Amber's not there still. "Hey."

I turn around, right before I enter my bedroom and see Tonya and the others, including Amber. "Hey."

"How'd it go at the infirmary?" Tonya asks innocently.

A stirring down the hall from Negan's room unsettles me. "Um, it was okay." Literally the most terrifying and life- altering doctor's appointment I've ever had.

"Good." She nods.

I don't say anything more. Instead, I head down the hall with the lethargy of a roamer. I pass his door and enter the stairwell to the roof. I ascend with a heavy heart and open the door to the glaring sunlight. It's ten in the morning and it's hotter than hell up here. The chair Negan was sitting in earlier is still up here, despite the pieces of turntable being cleaned up and gone.

My eyes scan far out, past this godforsaken place as I tread over to the chair and have a seat. I slide my hand in the pocket of my dress and pull out the pregnancy test, looking at the pink plus once more. _Pink plus means congratulations_. I huff through my nose. Pregnant. Pregnant and uncertain of whom the father is. If my mother could see me now, I know exactly what she'd say.

" _What a fine mess you got yourself into, although I'm hardly surprised."_

I put the stick back into my pocket. I'm pregnant. With a baby. I'm going to give birth to a child. A child I didn't know I was carrying all this time. A child whose father is...

My blank face cracks and I cry. My breaths are harsh and sharp as tears run down my face, while I watch the world beyond the Sanctuary. The world that's controlled by Negan, too. _Everything's his._ I lower my head into my hands and sob.

"Didn't I say not to come up here?" His voice has me straighten up to collect myself.

"I just needed to be alone." I wipe my eyes.

His shadow is present before he is, but in no time he's towering over me. "Oh my goodness," He chuckles, "Crying again, I see." I just look up at him. "You saw Harlan?"

"Mhm." I sniff.

"And?" He looks me over with what looks like a sliver of concern.

I turn my head to the side. "And I'm fine." I cup my hands together as they droop over my knees. "Just migraines. My mom use to get them, too."

"So, why the tears?" Negan squats down and observes me.

"It's my favorite past time," I bleakly joke, "aside from syrup consumption."

He laughs dully. "That it fuckin' is."

Sweat trickles down my neck as I stare at him. "Can I be alone?"

"Alone? Up here?" Negan touches my perspiring leg. "So you can feel sorry for yourself?"

"Please." I reach over and place my hand on his, calmly taking it from my leg.

His eyes read my complexion, inquisitively, before he stands. "Sure, sweetheart," He walks to the stairs, running his fingers listlessly through the strands of my ponytail, "be alone for as long as you fucking want."

Each tress that touches my back makes me want to cry. I guess I know why I've been so emotional lately.

 **...**

I don't stay very long up on the roof, because it's so hot and I can feel sensitivity on the bridge of my nose. I'm drenched in sweat, after having spent half and hour up there. The mirror in the bathroom reveals a little pinkness on my nose and tops of my shoulders. I strip down, go over to the shower, and am grateful that the water is lukewarm. The water irks the faint sunburns, but aside from that it feels good.

I lather up a bar of soap between my hands as I think about my next move. Eight to ten weeks. That means the baby could be Dwight's, but it could also be Negan's. I counted the weeks on the calendar in the infirmary. It would technically be ten or so weeks since Dwight and I had that little slip up. I told him he pulled out in time, but I guess I could've been wrong. This is what I get for being so careless.

I know it sounds and is sort of reckless, but I never had too big a problem with the pull out method, but I suppose this is why they always say it's safest to use protection. But to be fair, in this case that's a little hard to do when there's no birth control pill, or condoms lying around.

 _It's his_. I run the suds and bar over my body. "It has to be." I say barely under my breath. That night has to be the night I got pregnant. The water shuts off. "Shit," I curse.

What am I suppose to do? Leave Negan, knock on Dwight's door, and break the news to him, hoping that he'll embrace me? That's wishful thinking. Even if Dwight isn't mad at me, which it doesn't always appear that he is, it doesn't mean he'll take me back. _You could be like Marisol._ Marisol...

I wrap my towel around me and pad to my room. I hide the test in my trunk and go to the rack to pick out a non- sweaty dress. I hold my horses for a minute when I catch my reflection. The small, rounding tummy that I've overlooked all these weeks glistens due to my freshly showered skin. I nervously put my hand to it, noticing my bird tattoo in the mirror as well. I breathe, then continue dressing, and leave to go see how things turned out for Marisol.

I find her in the yard, being instructed on something by Hal. As much I'm always glad to see Hal, right now is not good timing. Marisol glances my way, which causes him to look as well. I smile blandly, approaching them. "Hi."

"Hi." They both say in unison.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Hal.

Hal gives me a funny look. "They needed someone who knew how to fix the wiring on this military truck."

"Not one person here knows how to do that other than you?" I sound rude, even though that's not my intent.

He scoffs as a retort. "I had jerry- rigged some of the wires a while back, so Cooper asked me to help, since I know what I'm doing."

"Oh, well can I talk to you for a minute?" I ask Marisol who looks like hell.

"Meet me in my quarter after work," She answers, "I need all my points."

"Okay." I nod and exit.

"Hey!" Hal suddenly appears at my elbow.

"Hey." I continue to walk.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" He asks, following me to the bread station.

"I don't know what you mean," I take up a cardamom roll that I taught the lady who it them how to make, "I just wanted to talk to her."

"Since when do you and Marisol talk? You never did before."

"So? We talk now." I take a bite into the roll. _Oh, so good._

"What's with the attitude?"

"I don't have an attitude," I say while chewing, "I went to the doctor's today."

"And what? You got a case of being a twat?"

"Fix my ring, yet?" I take another bite, deciding not tell him.

Hal guffaws in disbelief. "I haven't gotten around to it yet, Your Majesty."

"Wait," I call out, before grabbing another roll and hurrying after him, "Hal!" I guess I was kind of snotty for no reason. It's not Hal's fault I'm pregnant and in distress. "Hal!"

Hal raises a hand, going back out to the yard, and I stop.

I turn to leave and that's when I see _him_. Dwight, standing leisurely on the catwalk. He's smiling and talking to Arat, who's also smiling. It's nothing, I'm sure, but it upsets me as I stand there with a roll in my hand. Arat never smiles, at least I've never seen her smile. _What has he said that made her smile?_

I don't know why, but Dwight turns for some reason and we make eye contact, his smile fades. Arat follows his gaze and her sweet- looking smile lessens as well, before looking at Dwight, saying something, and then walking out of sight. I go immediately, heading for the stairwell to make the journey to the top floor.

Once up there, I pretend to be fine when I pass the drawing room, but as soon as I close the door, I crumble on my bed.

 **...**

I return to see Marisol around five, having napped for a few hours after crying myself to sleep under my blanket. She's mixing together some lukewarm water and oatmeal when I find her. "Is that what you're eating for dinner?"

"Yep." She replies, briefly looking up.

"C'mon," I motion my head to the left, "I'll get you something else."

Marisol rises with an arched brow. "What?"

"Let me get you a hot meal."

She mulls it over, prideful but hungry. "Fine." She rolls her eyes and we head to the kitchen.

"So, how did it go?" I mutter as we maneuver through the busy floor.

"About as well as expected." Marisol tells me with chagrin. I nod in response and wait a few minutes for her to speak more. "I did what you said and didn't go into his room."

"That's good." I oddly praise.

"Yeah," She nods as we enter the kitchen, " I told him I was pregnant, I even kept the test to prove it." She has the kitchen workers put three ladlefuls of chili into her thermos. "You know, he did exactly what I said he would."

"What was that?" I ask, curiously. We leave the kitchen area without anyone calculating out what Marisol owes, because I was with her. The two of us both ignore the wolf whistles from some of the shadier Saviors.

Marisol snorts, eating her chili as we walk. "Simon asked me how I knew it was his."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I told him that it had to be his," She huffs, "Because he told me not to sleep with other men, even after he moved to the outpost. He said that just because I told him I wouldn't, doesn't mean I didn't when he was away."

"Asshole." I grumble under my breath as she eats a spoonful of chili.

"I insisted it was his and he asked if I was planning on keeping it. When I told him that I was, he told me that he was sorry to hear that." Marisol stirs her chili irritably, shaking her head. "Can you believe that? 'Sorry to hear that.' He just walked into his room and closed the door, left me standing out in the hall."

"I'm sorry," I pluck up a sourdough roll from the bread station as we pass it, "but it's probably for the best."

"You were totally right," She stops right before entering her quarter, staring at me, "That son of bitch doesn't give a damn about me and I knew it, but I fooled myself into thinking that he'd at least help me out. That's all I wanted."

"I know." I offer her the roll, as well as a smile of empathy.

She takes the bread. "I wasn't thinking clearly, but now I am."

"I'm glad." My mouth tips upward.

"I know I was a bitch to you before, because I was quick to judge you like everyone else," She goes on, "But...I really appreciate what you've done for me."

"It's no big deal.

Marisol looks down at her thermos. "Thanks for the chili."

 **...**

Negan doesn't come to dinner tonight, still looking over the books in his room. The rest of us go about eating spaghetti and making small talk as normal. Well, the others are chatting, I'm trying to work up some courage. Boy, do I wish I could have a drink right about now.

"Do you want some wine?" Danica holds the bottle up.

 _Yes!_ "No, thank you." I grin and take a sip of my water. I notice Amber's not drinking either, which means that Negan must have told her to ease off.

"Did you hear about that worker who died yesterday?" Tonya asks around the table.

"Oh, yeah, he got impaled!" Hazel chimes in, twirling her fork around spaghetti.

Danica makes a disgusted noise as she swallows some food. "Can we not talk about anything gross while we're eating? It's like Table Etiquette 101."

"Ew, yeah, especially since we're eating spaghetti!" Hazel laughs, wiggling the elongated noodles on her fork. Some of us snicker.

"Grow up!"

Hazel's about to retort, but Negan's bedroom door swings open. "Nan!" We're all silent and everyone looks over at me. I don't turn around, or move and as a consequence, footsteps stride in.

I look innocently over my shoulder at his figure in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Let's have a chat, sweetheart," His voice is stern, "right fuckin' now."

I get up from my chair and pass him without eye contact into his room. Panic starts up in me, fearing that Harlan put the pregnancy down on the logs anyway. I have a seat on the sofa and watch as he strolls over to me with a serious expression, sitting on the arm. I make no inquiry as to why he wanted to talk to me; I just wait for him to tell me.

"Know why I wanted to talk to you?"

I don't shake my head, because I have a feeling that I do as I lower my eyes at the open book on the table.

Negan bends over and takes the books from off the table, setting it down on my lap. He points to a particular entry. "A weeks worth of prenatal vitamins were distributed to number 51 today."

I read " _prenatal vitamins - 7"_ recorded in the main log in Reed's handwriting right next to the little column that has the number 51 written down in the adjacent square.

"51? She's that hot mechanic you were talking with yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, did you fuckin' know she was knocked up?"

My eyes trace down at all the other entries. "Yes."

Negan moves to sit next to me on the leather sofa. "Did she really have an infection like you said she did, or were you lying to me?"

Telling Negan the truth could mean that Harlan would get in trouble for falsifying the logs, even if he didn't know that he had.

"No, she did." I give him an honest look.

"So why the secrecy about the bun in the oven?" He stares back, interrogatingly.

"She took a test two days before she got the antibiotics," I raise my brow, "it was on the logs, I assume."

He peers down at the book in my lap, evidently not checking before he called me in. "So, who's the daddy?"

"That's not really your buisness," I scoff, but I can see he's already got an idea by the flat look on his face. "I don't know, I didn't ask," He picks up the book and tosses it on the table, "But I do know that whoever he is, he's not interested in being a father."

"Damn shame." Negan remarks, looking off. I wonder if he knows and is disappointed that his right hand man would leave a girl high and dry. Then again, why would Negan care? He grunts as he shifts his body until he's stretched out on the sofa, putting his head in my lap.

I pause, unnerved that he's unaware of the child so close to him. "She'll be alright." I awkwardly place my hand on his forehead.

To my surprise, he closes his eyes at my touch, peacefully. "I hope so, for the kid's sake."

"She's pretty tough," I let my hand pet his head, "She said she can manage." I study his features, bewildered by his strange behavior.

"The Sanctuary doesn't have kids living here," Negan opens his eyes and looks at me, "Why do you think that is?"

 _The Sanctuary's not exactly a kid- friendly place._ "Some of these people here probably had kids at one point."

"Sure and that's sad as shit and all, but why hasn't there been any new kiddos running around and leeching off their mom's titties?"

"I guess no one's having sex." I falsely conclude, rolling my eyes.

"I highly fuckin' doubt that, "He chuckles slightly, "And I fuck all the time, which consequently means that you and my other wives are gettin' some, too."

I start to laugh when it dawns on me and I gaze, troubled, into his hazel eyes. He stares back and all I can do is fake a smile. "Can I go finish dinner?"

Negan's eyes convey something that almost resembles disappointment, like I didn't say the right thing. He sighs, "Yeah."

Later on in the middle of the night, I sit outside in the chair on the roof, again. The temperate air feels nice on my skin. I take a deep inhale, closing my eyes as I do. I exhale slowly, not a bit less stressed than before. I inhale again, holding it at the pinnacle for a moment, or two before letting it all gradually out.

A bird whistles out in the night over the breeze. I open my eyes, uncertain if that's what I heard, but sure enough, it sings again. Full- throated and unburdened. I sit there and listen until it stops, then I wrap my robe around myself and go back inside.

 **...**

My fist raps on the door, a little more harder than the last one. This is the second time I've knocked. I can hear rustling around from the inside, as well as hushed voices. The clinking of an undone belt chimes lightly and I hear her speak a little quietly than he. I knock a third time. "Hold on, asshole!"

I wait, clawing at my thumb in anticipation. The door finally swings open and Laura looks stunned to see me this early and for the first time since the other night. "Um, hi." My eyes eavesdrop into the room, spotting Hal pulling his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.

"Good morning," Laura greets blandly, peaking out into the hall, "What's up?"

"I need to ask you for a favor?"

"A favor?" She cocks her brow.

"I know I don't really have any right to ask, " I claim, "I'm sorry for everything that happened, but I really need help and I-"

"What's wrong, Nan?" Hal intervenes with a concerned look on his face.

I look down each side of the hall. "Can I come in?"

Laura's reluctant, but she waves me in. "What do you need help with?"

I glance at the unmade bed, wringing my hands together, and sitting down in the armchair. "Um..."

"Out with it, love." Hal urges. Both him and Laura stand before me in waiting. I sigh through my nose and chew on the corner of my lip. _One- two- three-_ "Nan!"

"I'm pregnant!" I tensely blurt out.

They both stare at me, taken back. Hal's mouth is slightly agape. "What?" Laura asks after a second.

I nervously stand. "I-I went to the infirmary yesterday and took a pregnancy test." My stomach knots itself. "It was a pink plus."

Laura puts her hands on her hips and shifts her weight as she looks down. Hal still looks caught in the headlights. "What do need my help for?"

I look from Hal to her. "I...I wanted to ask if I could stay with you," She gives me a confused look, "It's not Negan's. Harlan said I was about eight to ten weeks, it has to be...Dwight's."

"You've been married to Negan for about two months." Laura points out, licking her bottom lip. "How do you know its D's?"

"Because I think I started getting symptoms before..." I think about the times I may have had morning sickness before I married Negan and how I chalked it up to me being the anxiety- ridden basket case that I am.

"You _think?_ "

"I...I know." I reassert, "When Negan finds out, he's going to kick me out of the roost and I'll need a place to stay."

"Does he know?" Hal finally speaks. "Dwight?"

"...No." I breathe through forming tears. "No, I haven't told him, yet."

"Don't you think you should?"

"I will, Hal, but right now I need to worry about where I'm going to live after I become a displaced homemaker."

"Oh, lovely, Nan," He rolls his eyes, "Make jokes, why don't you?"

"I'm not even asking _you_ , okay?" I look back to Laura who's been watching our little tiff. "I'm sorry for intruding and for asking you a huge favor after I almost got you into trouble, but I...I don't know how Dwight will react and I just need to prepare for the likely event that he'll turn me away."

"Turn you away?" Hal scoffs incredulously.

"I kissed Negan when Dwight and I were...in a relationship," My shoulders start to feel heavy, "It happened when we returned Carl to Alexandria. I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did and then he asked me to marry him. I told Dwight and he told me to leave. So, there's a possibility that he might not want anything to do with me."

Hal scoffs again. "If he fucking has the bollocks, I'll-"

"You can stay with me." Laura interrupts Hal's threat. "But you have to tell him."

I nod, exhaling the weight off my shoulders. "Okay, thank you."

Laura wiggles her nose before scratching it. "I need to go pee," She says as she walks towards the door, "Make sure the coast is clear before you leave."

I look at Hal after the door closes. "Well, I better go before I'm missed at breakfast." I start to go, but Hal steps in front of me.

"Nan?"

"Yeah?"

He embraces me tightly. "Congratulations."

I weakly pat his back. "Thanks."

He breaks away from the hug. "You alright?"

"I'm..." I shake my head, "I'm fucking terrified." He rubs my arm. "But, uh...I'll be okay."

"Of course you will, Gorgeous."

"I should go." I smile back with tears in my eyes.

"Yeah."

I exit Laura's room and glance down the hall in the opposite direction of the stairs. After a moment's contemplation, I decide to go eat breakfast. As much as I thought I'd be scared shitless to go up the stairs, I feel a sort of confidence now that I have a plan. _Just go up to him, count to five, and tell him you're leaving him._ I open the door to the top floor and am immediately met with the aroma of pancakes and syrup.

I walk into the dining room and find no Negan, much to my dismay. I almost ask the girls where he is, but instead I sit down and help myself to pancakes. It's okay, he won't be scarce for very long.

Afternoon comes before I see Negan. I'm sitting at the piano bench, plucking out some piece as I think and worry about all the possibilities. I have no idea what will come of all that I know I have to do.

I'm afraid to tell Negan that I'm leaving, even though he said I was free to go at any time. And when I tell him it's because I'm pregnant, what will happen then? I also don't know how things will go over with Dwight, which is what most worries me. I don't believe that Dwight will welcome me back with open arms, simply because I left Negan, or because I'm pregnant with his child. I'm too old to jump to fairytale conclusions. But still, it all has to be done.

"You awake?" I stop playing and blink up to see Negan leaning against the piano. "Earth to Nan?"

"What?"

He smiles. "I got a little freaked out," his finger reaches down and taps a key, " 'cause you're playing like champ, but staring off into space." I just look at him with my mouth open a bit, either to speak, or simply just because. "Is anybody home?" He waves a hand over my face. "Or were the lights left on?"

I blink and turn my head. "I'm fine," I fib with a rasp, "I was just...deep in thought."

"Is it rude to say that I'm skeptical of that?" Negan snickers low.

I blink like a ditz again. _One- two- three- four- five go!_ "Um, actually I-"

The radio on his belt cuts me off with some static request to see him from Simon. "Yeah, I'll be right down." Negan clips the radio on his belt again, smiling at me. _God, stop smiling!_ I was trying to break some bad news to you. His fingers tuck hair behind my ear and linger down my jaw line, tipping my chin up. "Don't think too hard, sweetheart. I think I can smell your hair a-burnin'." He mockingly taps the tip of my nose before stalking off.

 **...**

 _Thud! My back hits the dirt hard, knocking the wind out of me. I rapidly detach the severed arm from my wrist. The whistling bounces from tree to tree above the grave, chilling me. The rotting figure looks down at me and opens it's mouth to choke out, "Nan."_

 _Just as he speaks, the whistling ends and is replaced by leaves and twigs crunching under feet. I hear that throaty chuckle, but see no one except the standing corpse. More footsteps sound and then not long after a silhouette comes into sight. The sun illuminates off his straggly hair as he looks down beside the dead one. The rotter makes another attempt at speech, contorting its jaw. "Nan."_

 _I tried. I tried to do the right thing and came back to bury him, since I didn't before, but I failed. I ended up in the grave, about to be buried alive along with the all my guilt. The other person comes up on the other side of my dead one, holding a baseball bat. He puts an arm around the corpse and laughs. "Truth hurts, don't it?" With that said, he shoves the body into the grave. It lands on top of me and I shove it to the side, looking at it with blurry eyes._

 _"Nan." It reaches its remaining arm to me and I shut my eyes, giving up. But, when I feel it's soft, decomposing hand on my cheek, I don't feel afraid. I open my eyes when its thumb mechanically shifts slowly, back and forth, as though to comfort me. "Nan."_

 _I swallow back tears as I gaze into the familiar eyes of my grave mate, before sitting up and starting to stand. I look down at it and it looks up at me, resting it's hand on it's bloody, tattered clothes. I smile without even trying, before casting my eyes upward at the two figures at the top of the grave. A blackbird soars in the sky above us all; it's overcast shadow moving across my face._

 _Just then, the shining person gets on his knees and extends his hand out for me to take. I look over at the lain body whose eyes are closed. A labored humming begins. His favorite song._

 _"Nan." I turn my head back to the outreached hand. "Don't beat yourself up." What? "You could have done worse."_

 _I put my hand out to take his, but as I do, another thing is placed down by me. A barbed wire bat that was offered by the other man._

 _"A new world, a new fuckin' chance to do better."_

 _I eye the hand and then the bat, with a heavy heart that can't seem to make a decision._

 _The humming stops. "Nan?" I look over my shoulder at the rotter. It looks at me placidly. "I..." it struggles to form words, sputtering on it's own decay, "l-love y-you...d-dear-dearly...Anna."_

 _I'm suddenly lifted, by what or whom I don't know, as the cold earth files around the body._

 ** _..._**

I start awake, sitting up and wiping sweat from my forehead and a tear from my cheek. That dream gets fucking worse every time. I glance over at the clock and see that it's ten minutes before dinner. I go to the dining room when the delicious scent of bread wisps in from under the door.

Negan makes fun of Hazel for reading her comic book at the table and she timidly makes retorts that fall flat in comparison to anything he can dole out. Hazel's pretty sharp-witted in most cases, but not with Negan. That's what I don't get. I know Negan can be a scary asshole, but as a wife, you have a little bit of liberty to mouth off to him where no one else does.

That doesn't mean I can fully elaborate to him how I think his system is fucked up and that him and his Saviors are nothing but a bunch of fucking bullies, but giving him a tongue lashing hasn't ever put me in an early grave. But, the others tend to stay in the shallow end.

He finally stands up and I mimic him in order to speak with him alone. "Where are you running off to?" He asks me as he heads to the bathroom.

"Uh, well I actually wanted to ta-"

"You know what?" He talks over me. "Hold that thought, sweet cheeks. I gotta take a piss." Negan closes the door in my face. I wait outside for him, readying myself to have this talk. What? I hear the toilet flush, but shortly after that the shower turns on. _You have to be kidding me._

My foot taps nervously as I sit in the drawing room for Negan to come out. My hands hold each other tightly as I dart my eyes to the clock every couple of seconds.

"You okay?" Amber asks from across the room.

My eyes stay firmly on the clock, watching the big hand move oh so fucking slightly to the next minute. "Fine." I practically give myself whiplash from turning my head so quickly to the bathroom door when it opens. Negan walks into the room with his shirt off and his pants undone. I stand up and shyly make my way over to the bar where he's pouring himself some scotch.

"Frankie, I need you to work some fucking tension out of my shoulders." He says while focusing on his glass.

"Um, Negan." I say, far quieter than I intended.

"Okay," Frankie halts her knitting needles, "Right now?"

"Negan." I try to get his attention, but he turns his back on me to face her.

"No, _Francine_ ," He teasingly calls her by her formal name, "I'm wondering if I can fucking book an appointment two weeks in fucking advance."

"I was just asking." Frankie places her knitting down in the basket.

"Negan." I tap him on the shoulder.

"What?" He snaps a little, looking over at me with an annoyed gaze.

"I...I need to talk to you." I start to pick at my thumb.

"Well, it can fucking wait, can't it?"

I open my mouth to tell him no, but I don't get that far.

"Of course, it fuckin' can." He strides out of the room with Frankie following behind him.

 **...**

I put the dress I was wearing today on its hanger and then place it gently on the rack. My eyes linger on the blue polka- dotted dress I wore to my wedding, but only for a second. I then put the wedges I took off an hour ago back in line with all the others. Next, I take the earrings I had once seen Sherry wear from each ear and lightly drop them in the porcelain dish on the vanity.

My head looks over at the postcard on the wall and so I head over to the neatly made bed, delicately putting my knee on it as I gingerly take card off the wall. Kneeling down to my opened trunk, I tuck the card into the side of the trunk where it will maintain it's unwrinkled integrity. I touch the copy of Jane Eyre I haven't yet turned back into the library, before standing up.

I take a few deep breaths; trying to not let the moaning that started off as a product of a massage, but has now escalated into sex, bother me. I see myself reflected in the stand mirror, again. Dressed in my jeans, my shell pink t-shirt, and my all black Converse; hair thrown into a ponytail. I slowly turn to get a profile of the almost unnoticeable bump behind my shirt.

Negan's guttural moans mixed with Frankie's soft ones make what I'm about to do seem immensely irrational. I look at my face in the mirror again, taking a deep breath.

"I'm leaving you, Negan." I practice. "I don't want to be married to you anymore."

I roll my shoulders and head to the door. When I open it, the wives are a little taken back by my appearance, but I shift my body left to go down the hall without an explanation. I approach the moaning doors and count to five. _One- two- three- four- five._ This is it. I knock loud enough on the door for him to hear me. He ignores it, so I knock even louder.

"What?!" He booms.

"I need to talk to you!" I call out. I hear him grumble something, but the sound of the bed knocking against the wall doesn't stop. I pound harder.

"Goddamn it, Nan!" Negan shouts angrily. "Take a fucking hike!"

I glance momentarily over at Tonya and Amber who are peaking out into the hall. I sigh deeply, gathering my courage. I put my hand on the door handle and when I see it's unlocked, I rush forward. I avert my eyes from the scene, which halts upon my hasty intrusion.

I blush. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving you!" That said, I calmly retreat, closing the door, and treading back to my room and closing the door behind me.

All motion and sound ceases and, I swear, you could even say the air supply was cut off, because as I stand alone my room, listening, everything seems colder and heavier.

I kneel down to make sure there's room for my vase in my trunk, when I finally hear the rumbling of his door opening. Heavy, purposeful strides herald his fast approaching arrival.

The door barges open with great force. "What the fuck do you mean you're leaving me?" Negan demands as the door hits the wall behind it, swinging lazily back towards him. He's standing in the doorway, hurriedly dressed with the exception of his jacket and scarf. "Answer me."

I motion over to the trunk as I stand up. "I...I don't want to be your wife anymore." I meet his hard stare.

Negan steps into the room, closing it behind him after he glances over his shoulder at the audience. "Is that right?"

"It's a matter of fact, yes." I answer plainly.

He chuckles and a grin appears. "Is this some kind of foreplay?"

"No." Of course he'd take it as a joke.

"No?" He strolls casually forward. "This isn't some jealous ploy to get my attention?"

"I said no." I'm getting frustrated.

Negan squints, still grinning and in denial. "Really? Because I know how you get a little fuckin' antsy when I'm with one of the other ladies and I saw how pissed you were that I brushed you off for Frankie." I stare daggers at his arrogant face. "If you wanted to join in, all you-"

"Stop!" I shout, putting a hand up. "I'm fucking serious, Negan!"

His smirk diminishes as he realizes that. "You want to leave me?"

"Yes." I soften my tone.

"And may I ask why?"

"I don't want to be married to you anymore."

Negan licks his bottom lip. "Why don't you want to be married to me anymore?"

"Because I'm..." I bite the inside of my cheek, "Because I'm unhappy and I don't want to be here." His face grows harsh. "You said if I didn't want to be here, I could leave, so that's what I'm doing."

Negan nods, twisting his mouth one side to the other, while looking off in thought. He takes a few steps towards me. "You're unhappy?"

"Yes."

He looks me over in my old clothes, before traveling back up to my eyes. "How fucking so?"

I only break eye contact with him to turn to collect the vase from the window seal. "I thought I could do this, being a wife. That maybe I wanted it, because you kissed me back in Alexandria and I let you, but..."

"But?"

I dig at my thumb. "But I'm always tired, and everything feels so heavy and dull, and I never feel good. And..." I take a sharp breath, "I use to think I belonged here, but now I'm not so sure."

Negan reads the solemn candor of my face and then chuckles derisively at me. "You're so full of shit."

"You can think that, if you want," I hold the vase he gave me in my hand, "but it doesn't change how I feel."

He approaches me until we're inches apart. "I think you're bullshittin' me, because I know you like me," his hand rests on my arm, " and because you got a good fuckin' thing going here, sweetheart. Never having to work for what you've got, because I take care of you and gladly provide for you." He puts his other hand on the curve of my side and leans down to kiss me.

I move my head away. "I can't do that anymore."

"Sure you can," He nearly whispers, caressing my arm, "You and me can do it right here on your bed." His breath sweeps across my flesh. "And then you'll quit with the theatrics and we'll move on. That's our thing."

"No, it's not!" I put my hand on his chest and push myself away. "Not anymore."

Negan laughs. "Oh, c'mon Anna! You really want to go back to working for points?"

I furrow my eyes. "I was a Savior before I married you."

Negan chuckles like a son of bitch. "I don't have a job for you to do as a Savior, but there's always work to be done on the factory floor."

"You'd really be that petty? I don't want to be here anymore and so you're gonna fucking punish me for it?"

"I'd watch my fucking mouth if I were you, dear." His smile thins out to something barely resembling patience. "It's nothing to do with punishing you for your dumbass decision, so much as I just don't have a job for you to do and I'm not fucking gonna create one because you think you're too fuckin' good to work for points."

"I don't think that, I-"

"Well, then, that's great!" He exclaims, "You can go back to making bread with all the people who have nothing but positive fucking things to say about you!"

"I was a Savior before!" I shout back, gripping the vase. "You're gonna strip me of my rank in retaliation for not wanting to be with you!"

"No, sweetheart, no." He comes menacingly closer. "I'm not giving you back a name you never fucking earned!"

I stare at him in disbelief. " _What?_ "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Anna," Negan chuckles bitterly, "Did you really think accidentally killing a rapist impressed me that fuckin' much? It was an accident, although I will admit a happy accident of which I am grateful, but you've hardly done anything worth the title since. Doesn't take guts to set fire to a mattress, anyone can do it."

My cheeks billow with flaring heat. "Then why did you say I earned it?"

Negan scratches his brow with a smile. "Well, to be fuckin' honest with you, I didn't think you'd hack it very long just following Dwight around. But he put in a good word for you and I thought it was kinda cute that you were really trying to succeed. And that you wanted to earn it, even though you could barely earn enough points to survive, which I thought I could use in my favor. "

"You're telling me you did all of this, because you wanted to fuck me?!" I can't believe what he's implying.

He raises his eyebrows and smirks. "What can I fuckin' say? I thought you'd be an easy in."

I scan his face rapidly. _What a fucking liar!_ "Talk about being full of shit."

"You want out?" Negan asks. "You can leave, but you'll work for points and that door," He points to the wall, indicating the door to the stairs on the other side, "That ain't a fuckin' revolving door, Nan. So, I'd choose wisely."

"Really?" I scoff, totally floored by his words. "You're trying to coerce me into staying?"

"I'm simply letting you know that all the luxuries and leisure end as soon as you go through that door, darlin'. And I hope you didn't forget how fucking hard life is down there."

"No, I didn't forget," I claim, a storm brewing behind my eyes, "but compared to being married to you? It'll be a fucking cakewalk."

Negan scoffs, mildly offended but still grinning. "Well, good fuckin' luck to you, sweetheart." He turns for the door. "Maybe if you fall on hard times, Dwight will feed you when he's got an itch that needs scratchin'."

I don't know what possesses me, but in an fury, I launch the vase across the room towards him. It crashes against the wall, only a few inches from his head. Negan flinches at the sound of the vase shattering close to him, and everything goes silent again. In one swift motion, he looks from the pieces on the floor to me with dark eyes. I don't feel as if I can move from where I'm standing, petrified by his stare.

Negan storms towards me and I don't have time to even step back before he reaches me. But, instead of hitting me, which I was convinced he would do, he yanks open my trunk and throws it upside down. "Stop!" I yell as he tosses things in an rabid search.

"Where the fuck is it?" He yells, ripping the already torn lining of the trunk practically all the way out.

I know he's talking about my ring. "I don't have it!" I shriek, getting to my knees to try to salvage my scattered belongings.

Negan grabs me up roughly by my arm and shoves me to a sitting position on my bed. "Bullshit you don't fucking have it! Where is it, you fucking bitch?!"

"Fuck you!" I fire back as he towers over me. His eyes are volcanic. I don't think I've ever seen him this angry. He looks down and plucks up the photo of the couple, huffing at it before flicking it to the side. He then picks up my finished embroidery. "That's mine."

Negan pants as he glances my way and turns to leave. "Get the fuck out." He flings the door open and I can make out the dumbfounded faces of the wives.

I leap off the bed and fire out of the room, stupidly determined. _Let it go._ "That's mine!"

"Not any-fucking- more!" He calls as he heads into his room through the open door. "Get your fucking shit and get the fuck out. You can sleep in the goddamn stairwell for all I fucking care until Reed scrapes something up for you!"

I can see his arm reach out to close the door, so I put my hand out to stop it. "Give it back!" _Crunch!_

I scream out in agony as the door flies into the doorframe where my fingers lay, slamming onto them with a sickening crunching sound. I cry, hunched over from the horrible pain that ensnares my entire hand, cradling it to me.

"Nan!" Frankie runs over to me from out of Negan's room in only her robe, touching my back. I can't stop the tears, but I erect my back and open my eyes to see the condition of my hand. A splitting row of cuts runs across my three fingers, blood gushing. I can see that one finger is clearly broken just from looking at it. "Tonya, go wake up Harlan!" Frankie shouts.

Tonya and Amber, who's crying, go to the stairs, while Danica and Hazel stand stunned in place. Frankie shushes me as I bawl, stroking the back of my hair. Through the tears, I look up and see Negan standing in his room with a daunted look on his face. His eyes shift from my hand to me and when they do; I turn my head and walk to the stairwell to go see the doctor.

 **...**

Harlan's in sweatpants that he most likely sleeps in and a white t- shirt that has a hole in the collar. When I met him, Tonya, and Amber in the hall and told him to go to the infirmary instead of up top, his face was utterly appalled.

He cleans the hand, which I barely pay mind to as I numbly sit on the exam table. I asked Tonya and Amber to leave and to tell Frankie, who wanted to come with me that I'm fine. Harlan clears his throat after awhile, which makes me dully move my eyes to him. "Was this why you wanted me to wait?" He nearly whispers.

"I didn't even tell him." I rasp, drained.

Harlan puts two sutures in each finger and after setting my broken finger, makes a splint for it out of a tongue depressor and medical tape. We don't say anything else to one another. I sluggishly leave without a thank you. When I open the door, who's out in the hall, leaning against the wall across from the door, but Negan.

Only he'd have the balls to show his face after what he did. He's got his hands in his pockets and one legged crossed over the other. I give his attritional frown half a glance, not buying the remorse. The door to the infirmary opens and Harlan wisely lowers his head when Negan glances his way, before heading down the opposite hallway.

I drudge towards the stairs to get my trunk from the top, so that I can one handedly drag it down. Negan sighs behind me and I hear him begin to walk. We go up each set of stairs and through every hallway a few feet apart and in silence. This is probably the first time that Negan is quiet simply because he doesn't know what to say, but I don't care. This whole fiasco is just one, big fucking eye- opener for me.

What was thinking two months ago when I agreed to marry him? Like Sylvie, the good will never outweigh the bad with Negan. How could I think I deserved to be with someone like him? To be reduced, humiliated, and now literally broken by him.

The wives whisper as I go to the room and open the door, but I think it's more about Negan than me. My trunk is completely packed and the embroidery hoop sits on top. The door creaks closed behind me and I lower my eyes, knowing he's in the room with me.

I look bleakly over my shoulder at his morose face. Moving my tongue around my dry mouth, I take the hoop and toss it on the bed. I steal a quick, indifferent glance at "Bone Sweet Bone" stitched in cursive with a pair of hands making a vulgar gesture of sex. Such a trivial thing, in hindsight, to break a finger over.

Negan breathes in. "Nan?" I mechanically turn my head toward him. "I...I didn't do it on purpose," He claims to my distant eyes, "You know that, right? I didn't know your hand was...was there. I would never intently hurt a-"

"I was wrong." I dully croak.

His brows knit together. "What?"

"I was wrong," I reverberate dryly, "You asked if I thought it would be degrading to be with you." Negan closes his mouth somberly as I hold up my broken hand. "I told you no. I was wrong."

He puts his hands on his hips, displeased, but accepting that. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I really am."

"You'll get over it." I reply.

"Nan," He frustratingly exhales, "I want-"

"To make it up to me?" I raise a tired brow. "Then give me my old job back."

I can see that even under these terms, he's not too keen on negotiating a deal where he'll get nothing. "Okay."

"Not making bread," I make adamantly clear, "I want to assist Reed in keeping the books, again, and I don't want to earn points for it. I want to be a Savior."

Negan's tongue grazes the inside of his cheek, before he reluctantly nods. "Okay."

"Shake on it." I start to put out my injured hand, but extend the unbroken one instead. "Shake on it!" My voice trembles a little when, at first, he doesn't take my hand.

He grabs my hand and shakes it, but doesn't immediately let go. I pull my hand free and secure my trunk, taking one side and begin dragging it to the door.

"If anyone-"

"Nobody's gonna ask," I chuckle sardonically, " because no one fucking cares what you do to anyone, so long as it's not them."

I look into the drawing room and see the wives looking doe- eyed at me. I mouth 'bye' before going to the stairs without looking back. My trunk thuds down every step and when I get out of the stairwell, I have to wipe tears with my forearm as I make my way down the hall.

 **...**

When I finally make it to Laura's room, I knock faintly, but she hears. She opens the door and her eyes instantly widen at the sight of me. "Oh my god," She whispers, "Nan, wha-"

"Can you bring this in for me? I have to go somewhere real quick."

Laura swallows and nods, dragging the trunk inside. I'm not in the mood to wait until morning, like I had originally planned. I go up to Dwight's door and knock. No answer. I look down at the bottom of the door and see no light. _Not in?_ My eyes peer up at the clock down the hall and see that it's nine forty- five. Normally, I would just go back to Laura's and resign to wait, but not this time.

I head to the front of the factory, growing restless. When I make it there, I stop for a moment, gazing at the open factory door and smelling the cigarette smoke that flows in from the outside. _One- two- three- four- five._ I walk to the entrance. He's there. He's there, leaning his arms over the yellow railing. A curl of smoke contrasts with the dark night sky. It's warm, but windy. I open my mouth to speak and find my throat drier, as well as aching.

"Hi, D." I manage to rasp.

He turns and his eyes immediately convey disturbance as he looks not only at me in my regular clothes, but also my gnarly hand.

"I left him." I croak. Dwight remains silent, stilling staring at my hand. "It, uh, got struck by a slamming door."

His eyes move from my hand to my eyes.

"Is now a good time to talk?" _Too bad if it isn't, 'cause you're gonna tell him now._

He takes a drag of the cigarette and nods as the end of it flares like a beacon.

"I, um...would you actually mind putting that out?" I ask, politely.

Dwight exhales the smoke through his nose and then drops the cigarette, stepping on it.

"I went to the doctor's the other morning," I begin fearfully, "I thought I was sick, because I've been feeling really under the weather for a while. Um, but it turns out I'm not sick."

"That's...good." He nonchalantly notes, looking over at the guards on the night watch down by the fences.

"Yeah, well...as it turns out," I scratch my nose ring, "I'm...pregnant."

His brows furrow greatly and his mouth reopens as he stares at me in shock.

"Harlan said I'm about eight to ten weeks and I...I think that it must have happened that night when you, um, thought you didn't...even though I said you did. I'm sorry. I guess I don't know when the pull out method's not a flawless ten after all." I try to sound easygoing, but you can hear the jittery edge in my dry voice. I reach into my back pocket and produce the pregnancy test. "Here."

He hesitates, before reaching out and taking the offered test. I watch as he looks down at the pink plus. All at once, everything swells up in my chest. "A pink plus means it's positive."

Dwight's eyes flicker up at me like I didn't need to explain the obvious and he hands me back the test. "It's mine?"

I nod. "Yeah," I clear my throat, not at all hurt by the legitimate question, "If I thought it was his, I wouldn't be standing here."

"No, I guess not." He agrees under his breath.

"I know that I, uh...that I fucked things up, but I..." I become a little disoriented as his eyes fix on mine. "I just thought that you should know."

Dwight nods, then his head glances to the side as he inhales and exhales sharply.

"I'm staying with Laura," I put the test back in my pocket, "She said I could, so...um, yeah. I just wanted to let you know, um...what's going on." The breeze blows between us, raising goose bumps on my skin. I back away, before turning around to go inside, tired and on the verge of tears.

"Nan." He calls out and I stop dead in my tracks.

"Yeah?"

"Uh..." I can hear him breath an agitated sigh through his nose, "you...you should stay with me."

I'm speechless. I pivot my body carefully towards his direction. Our eyes meet, both troubled. Speak. "Y-you don't have to do that, Dwight," I swallow down my emotions, "I don't expect you to-"

"I want you to." He interrupts.

"You...you do?"

Dwight runs a conflicted hand down his mouth, before lightly sighing. "Yeah." He nods, looking back at the guards again.

"...Okay."

He nods once more and walks towards me to enter the building. I step aside and then follow him forward to the halls. I keep behind him, stupefied, as we tread through silently. When we get to his room, Dwight opens the door and turns on the light.

* * *

 **So the truth is finally out! I mean, you all pretty much knew she was pregnant way before now, but it was still fun building up suspicions for this chapter! I'm super stoked to finally reveal what I had tucked away for what feels like forever.**

 **To all of you who have asked about the pregnancy, I promised to provide some answers.** **Right now, all I can say about the paternity of Nan's baby is that you will have to wait and see! As of now, according to Nan, it's Dwight's. But we shall see...**

 **Hope this chapter was to y'all's liking! Once again, thanks you thank you for all the wonderful support!**


	30. The Right Thing

The room looks the same as it did the night I was kicked out, although I didn't really expect it to change much. The floor's a bit of a mess, with a few beer bottles, empty cigarette packs, and one or two shirts littered around. Dwight closes the door behind us and it gets my brain reeling again.

"Um," I begin hoarsely with my eyes fixed on the stiffly made bed, "I have to go get my trunk from Laura."

"I can get it." Dwight suggests, going for the door.

"No, it's okay," I meekly insist, "I can do it myself." I open the door and tread down the hall to her door around the corner. I rap quietly on the door and she answers almost immediately.

"Hey," She sharply whispers, motioning for me to come in, "what happened to you?!"

I conceal my hand behind my leg, somewhat embarrassed. "I'm not staying, I just came for my trunk."

Laura's eyebrows gather close. "What?"

"Dwight wants me to stay with him." Telling her that feels odd. Almost unbelievable, which I guess is what she must be thinking.

"Is that a good idea?"

"What you do mean?" I ask, even though I'm sort of questioning it myself.

"Um..."She seems to be at a loss for words, still focused on my hand, "never mind." Laura steps aside and I take my trunk by the side handle. I open the door and enter the hall before she speaks again. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Uh...if you need to stay here, just say so and you're welcome to."

"Thanks." I grin weakly before I go down the hall with some doubts and my trunk in tow.

When I get back to Dwight's room, the door's closed, so I knock. He opens it, looks me over, and then comes out into the hall. He takes my trunk from me and brings it into the room. I follow him in and watch as he places it in the same place he had when I moved in the first time. After that's done, his eyes come back to mine and we're both still for a moment.

"Uh," He motions his hand out towards the bed, "you're probably tired."

"Yeah, I am." I nod, reaching down to untie my shoes. I pull them off and contemplate sleeping in my clothes. After a moment's thought, I decide to at least take my jeans off, since it'll be too uncomfortable to sleep in them.

So, with one hand, I unbutton my pants, slide them down, and step out of them. Then, I fold them and toss them onto the trunk and that's when I see Dwight's gaze. I blush when I remember that I'm wearing ivy green, lacy lingerie. I couldn't change into my old under garments, because they were tossed for being "fucking boring." When our eyes meet, Dwight bashfully moves to some unknown point in the room. I shyly pull back the covers and get under them, sliding myself to the side closest to the wall.

I settle down and turn my head to the side as I see him sit in his armchair. He's leaning forward, rubbing his hands down his face with a heavy sigh. He then sets his arms down on his knees and weaves his hands together. When he looks at me, I roll over and shut my eyes to go to sleep.

 **...**

I shift out of sleep the next morning, momentarily forgetting where I am. The smell of airy pine soap is embedded into the covers and so I take my time as I breathe in. A faint, yet rough slicing sound makes me roll over on my other side and I'm instantly met with the sight of him. He's dragging a knife along some whittled down wood that has the rudimentary shape of something. Dwight glances over at me with a calm expression on his face.

"Morning." I murmur, unsure of what else to say.

"Morning," He greets back with the same lost tone, "Did you...sleep okay?"

"Yeah." I sit up, draping the blanket over my lower half. "Did you?" I notice the other side of the mattress is untouched.

"Uh, yeah." He nods with dark circles under his eyes, before returning to his carving. "Yeah."

A not so good feeling swirls in my stomach and I'm not sure it's morning sickness. My eyes drift over to the little end table and I spot the pregnancy test sitting on it. _Did he take it from the back pocket of my pants?_ "Did you sleep in the chair?"

He looks back at me and then at the test I'm staring at. "Yeah."

I nod, lightly touching the blanket in thought. "What time is it?"

"Seven fifty-seven." He answers.

"Oh," I stand up, picking up my pants from off the trunk, "I better go find Reed."

Dwight rises from the chair. "You, uh...you should eat something before you go." His foot knocks over two bottles as he goes towards the fridge.

I fasten the button on my jeans as I watch him. "You don't have to that." I open up my trunk for a fresh shirt and find his shirt that I had borrowed a while ago. "Here," I take out the folded shirt, "You lent me this and I forgot to give it back."

He turns and accepts it, our fingers just barely grazing each other. "Thanks."

I demurely smile, and then I get out another shirt, and tug the one I'm wearing over my head. I spy Dwight stealing a glance at me, or more specifically at my forming tummy, before turning back towards the makeshift kitchenette. "You really don't have to do that."

"It's fine." Dwight claims, clearing his throat and starting the coffee.

I sit down on the edge of the bed to put on my shoes, curiously observing his demeanor. It looks as if he's trying to keep from looking back at me, which makes me feels wrong. Like I encroached on his space and put him in an awkward position. The entirety of last night replays in my head as I wait for breakfast. Everything escalated so quickly, it dazes me to think about. An aching in my hand has me look down and attempt to close it despite the splint. Ugh, it looks like a Frankenstein creation with the stitches, bruising, and slight swelling.

"Here." Dwight's voice draws me back and I take the plate with an egg, tomato, and lettuce sandwich on it.

"Thank you." I set the plate down on my lap, trying not to let the nausea get to me. Maybe I do have morning sickness after all. I breathe through the vomit I feel coming up as he pours some coffee into a mug.

"Um, do you want milk or sugar?"

I swallow the rising bile. "Milk, please." _Oh, crap._ I get up abruptly and lurch forward, throwing up on the floor in front of me. "I'm...I'm sorry."

Dwight's face scrunches a little in disgust, before he walks over to the small closet, opening it up. "It's okay." He say into his sleeve.

I feel terrible, because I broke the plate that the sandwich was on, as well as created a mess of egg, tomato slices, lettuce, and mayonnai- _incoming!_ I throw up again. "Sorry." I have a seat again and hold my head in my hands. "I'll clean it up."

"No, it's alright, I got it." He fills a bucket with water and some type of cleaner.

I sigh, forcing tears down. "I'm sorry."

Dwight looks at me with doleful eyes, as he dunks a rag into the bucket and carefully walks over to the mess. "It's alright. Really."

"No, I mean I'm..." I take a deep breath, but exhale sharply. "I'm gonna go brush my teeth."

 **...**

I find Reed in his office this morning with his feet reclined on his desk, as he drinks coffee from a white mug with a diner logo printed on it. Reed's a pretty laidback kind of guy in the sense that not a lot bothers, or unnerves him, however when I knock and enter his office; he's taken back and it shows. His eyes, like everyone else's who I passed on my way here, go from my face, to my clothes, to my hand, in that order. Like they're all dumbfounded that I'm not wearing a telltale dress of wifehood, as well as shocked by my broken hand.

"What, uh...what's going on?" He appears to ask my hand, since that's what he's looking at.

I move it back a little to break the focus. "I'm not one of his wives anymore," I declare, sheepishly, which makes his stare dart up to my serious face, "As of last night."

"Huh," Reed takes another sip of his coffee, while sitting up in his chair, "And so...you need a job and a mattress?"

"No, I'm not going back to working for points."

Reed raises his brows into his forehead. "Really?"

"Yes, really," I sit down in the chair across from him, "Negan put me back to assisting you."

"Is that right? 'Cause I didn't get a heads up."

"Well, everything was settled late at night, so maybe he figured you'd be asleep." I try to maintain a cool composure.

Reed gives me the up and down, before reaching for his radio on his belt and speaking into it. "Negan, this is Reed," he continues to study me, "I've got Nan down here, saying she's back to work with me. Is that what's up?"

I look outside the window and see a Savior looking down at the radio on his belt, as if waiting for Negan's response, too. After a few seconds, Negan responds. "Yeah, that's what's up." He curtly confirms.

Reed and I look at the radio in his hand for more, because there usually always is. I notice the Savior who was halted outside starts to walk off wherever it was he was going, letting me know that he was listening in. This consequently means that everyone who has a radio, or is within earshot of a radio knows that I'm a fallen woman, so to speak.

Reed's gaze flickers to my hand again. "Should I stick her in the quarters?" I give him a light look of disbelief, resenting that he doesn't just take my word for it. "She back to earnin' points?"

"...No, but feel free to scrutinize her work and report back to me," There's no humored inflection in his voice, "Make sure she's pulling her weight. Even the extra pounds."

Reed's eyes trail down my body, because of Negan's comment. "Roger that."

"So," I clear my throat, shaking off the petty remark, "Where do you want me to start?"

Reed and I spend three long hours together this morning, making the usual rounds that I have to admit I missed doing. The only thing that makes them long is the clear and present awkwardness between Reed and I. I'm fully willing to pretend as if Reed hadn't seen Negan hand me my underwear that day he came in, right as Negan finished going down on me, but I think Reed's having a little difficulty. _Oh, god, what if he heard us?_ Either that, or it's weird because I don't think Negan's ever lost a wife, except for Sherry, and no explanation or anything was given as to why.

Not that it's anyone's business why, but Negan's not really a subtle person and his confirmation that I was working with Reed this morning was blunt and not expressive. To the untrained ear, his response may have sounded removed, but I could tell he's still irked by what happened last night. _He should be._ I don't know if Negan has actual regret, but if so, I hope he's racked with guilt up there. Accident, or not, he still broke my hand.

By one o'clock, Reed has us divide and conquer, so I volunteer to go get the medical logs. I walk alone down the halls and am sort of glad to, although I don't know why. I make a stop at Dwight's door and open it, but he's not in, so I forlornly continue to head to the infirmary

"Whoa, watch it!" A random Savior yells after I run into her while distractedly walking.

"Sorry." I open the door to the infirmary and find Harlan hunched over his desk. He looks like he didn't go back to sleep last night.

"Hello." He straightens up.

"Hi," I smile plainly as he glances down at my hand, "I, um I came to get the logs, if you have them."

"Oh, yes, hold on a minute." He writes a few things down and then stands. "Here, you go."

"Thanks," I briefly read them, "Um, so you can just write down the test here, and I'll sign for it." I go to hand him back the books, but he's reluctant.

"So, I'm assuming you're not-"

"No," I look down at my semi- visible tummy, "I'm not married to him anymore."

"Uh...I "Harlan seems conflicted as he rubs his knuckle across his forehead, "I'm a little apprehensive."

"How come?"

"I understand how serious following rules are around here..."

I put a hand in my back pocket. "Yeah, which is why you need to log the test, so it's accounted for."

"Yes, but...given what happened last night, I just don't think you need any more stress right now."

"Negan's going to find out one way, or another, "I reply matter- of- factly, "Better he find out this way than when I'm really starting to show."

"I understand that, but Nan...I, um, I can't in good conscience do something that-"

"You think he's going to hurt me when he finds out?" I almost laugh out loud. "He wouldn't do that."

Harlan's face is hard to read. I can't tell if he's questioning if that's true or not, or if he's questioning why I believe that. He sighs, going over to the cabinets. "I met a lot of patients who said that their...spouses would never 'do that'."

"Negan's not my spouse," I vehemently clarify, "and he's a lot of things, but he wouldn't harm a pregnant woman."

"He already has."

"But he..." I disconcertingly sigh, realizing that I was just about to defend him.

"Can you at least wait a day or so?" Harlan shakes out some big white pills from a bottle.

"Why?" I blink back to focus.

"Because it's important not to put yourself in stressful situations," He extends his closed hand out for me to take the pills, "At least as much as possible."

I accept the pills in my hand and discover them to be vitamins. "So, shouldn't I get it over with? Like ripping off a band aid?"

"As your doctor, I'm asking you to give it a few days." Harlan kindly insists. "I have to recommend what's best for my patients."

I stick the vitamins in my pocket. "Okay."

"We can put those down later, too, right?"

"Yeah." I smile.

I leave the infirmary with a weight on my mind. I don't know if I should feel flattered, or troubled that Harlan would care that much about the well being of my child, that he would risk getting into trouble to make sure I'm not in distress. He doesn't even know me and he could get in some serious hot water for talking about Negan the way he just did.

I go into Reed's office with the logs and ready myself to go through everything with him. After an hour and a half, Reed looks over my work carefully for a few moments. I sit quietly as he does, not knowing what else to do.

"Looks good," He says after awhile, "Nice work."

"Thanks." I simply reply.

We both exit his office and both notice the noses poking around our way. People around here are such terrible gossips, I swear. "If production's stopped for the day, then clear out and get back to your quarters." Reed tells the workers with a leveled tone of authority, which also seems to make the two or three Saviors disperse, too. "I'll, uh, take the books up to the boss."

I look at him and nod, before going off on my own to go back to Dwight's room. I haven't seen him at all today and it only increases my worry about staying with him. He was so uncomfortable last night and this morning, I could see it in his body language and hear it in his voice. I spot Hal walking a few paces ahead of me and hurry my strides to catch up. "Hey, handsome." I tug his sleeve.

Hal acknowledges me, but keeps walking. "Hey, mate."

"I guess you heard, huh?"

"I'm sure the people in the outposts heard, Nan." His eyes keep forward, but I don't get the notion he's angry with me.

"Yeah." We head into the stairwell to the second floor.

"So, I talked to Laura an hour ago."

I'm a step behind him on the stairs. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hal tucks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, "She told me you went to hers last night."

"You knew I was going to."

"Yeah, but I didn't think so soon," He says under his breath, "Anyway, she said you had gone and then came back and said you were moving in with Dwight."

"So?" I walk through the door he holds open for me when we get to the top.

"Well, it's just..." Hal glances at my hand as we walk, "nothing. Never mind."

"Hal," I stop with him at his door, "Just tell me."

"He asked you?" Hal opens his door and I linger in the doorway as he goes inside.

"Yeah. He said I should stay with him."

"Alright, then." Hal nods, zipping up his jacket and rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Alright, then?" I scoff, watching him move about his room.

"I don't know."

"Hal!" I inadvertently stamp my foot in frustration.

"Yesterday, I swore to myself I'd kick his arse if he got you pregnant and refused to help you out, but..."

"But?" I urge him on.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that he's apparently not that sort of guy, but these rooms are small, mate."

"What's your point?"

"My point, Nan, is that his room is a really small space to live together and raise a kid in. Even smaller if you're only together out of obligation."

"Oh," I suddenly understand that him and I are on the same wavelength, "I guess so."

"I care about you, Nan," Hal looks on the edge of telling me something else, but his eyes look off, "Just...promise me if you aren't happy, you'll stay with Laura. Hell, you can stay with me, if you like. Just don't be someplace, if you aren't happy."

"I won't." I promise, half- heartedly.

"Alright," He nods, and then sighs, exhausted, "I think I'm gonna take a shower and then call it a night."

"So early?" I ask, lightly, "It's like five minutes to six, Hal."

"I'm tired." He claims, putting his hand on the door to close it. "Night."

"Night."

When I get back to Dwight's room, I find it vacant of the owner, but cleaner than it was this morning. The rug I vomited on has been scrubbed clean and there isn't even a foul odor. There are also no traces of dropped sandwich or broken ceramic plate. It's not just the rug that's clean; the entire room appears to be tidier. There aren't any cigarette packs or empty beer bottles on the floor anymore and the few articles of clothing are in a small basket in one corner of the room. The bed's made as well, as if it had never been slept in the night before.

I take my shoes off and place them on my trunk, so as not to ruin Dwight's work. I do, however, mess up the bed when I peel back covers to crawl under, so that I can lie down. I think about Hal's concerns about me living here, as well as my own private disquietude.

 **...**

The door opening and closing wakes me out my catnap. I wasn't totally asleep, but I did drift in and out of the heaviness. I stretch a little, before lifting my eyelids up and seeing Dwight over by the kitchenette. The camping stove snaps a few times before the flaring of fire. He turns to get a pot and halts for a second when he sees me.

"Hey."

"Hi," I sit up and slide myself to the edge of the bed, "What are you doing?"

"Making dinner."

I nod, even though his back is turned. "Um, I'm sorry for throwing up on your rug this morning."

"It's okay."

"I, um...I've been having trouble with morning sickness. I usually drown everything in syrup, because it masks the smell of the other food." Dwight looks over his shoulder at me and I fight the impulse to pick at my thumb, since it bothers the stitching on my index finger.

He turns his head back to the stove. "Is macaroni and...chili okay?" He reads the front of a silver packet.

"Sure."

Dwight tears off the top of the envelope and empties the contents into the pot on the stove. He then sets it down on the counter and faces me. His eyes peer down to the armchair, contemplating on whether or not to sit there. I want to say something that will lift this fog off the both of us, but what can I say in this moment that will make it all better?

"Um," He rubs the back of his head, "I'll be right back, so...can you watch the stove?"

"Oh, yeah. Go ahead." I nervously stand and he exits. Once the door shuts, I sit down in the armchair he passed up. I notice the desk clock over on the shelf by the T.V. and recognize it to be mine. I must have left it here when he kicked it out. _He kept it._

My head rests in my hands as I think about how surreal this all is. I'm still deciding if I should pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming, while half hoping that I am. _Pregnant._ I wrap my head around it over and over, but my brain doesn't seem to want to accept it. I never thought I'd be here.

It's not like I never wanted kids, but I've never been the kind of person who planned my life out past what was going on in the now. _What if I'm a bad mother? What if Dwight and I's issues affect our child?_ How am I going to take care of a child in this world? The bubbling behind me suspends my whirling insecurities, while I get up to stir the pot.

The chili mac n' cheese smells so good, better than I thought it would. It didn't sound too delectable when Dwight asked if I wanted it, but I agreed to it as some pathetic aim to please. As strange as this feels, I have to confess that there's some miniscule amount of peace of mind being here. Of being in such close proximity of him, even if he's standoffish.

My stomach gurgles at the aroma and I bring a spoonful of the stuff up to my lips, blowing softly to cool it, before I take a bite. _Oh, yeah, that's good._ I turn the stove off and stir the pot a few times more. I reach up and take two small Tupperware bowls to divide the food into. I leave his half on the stove inside the pot to keep it warm. I plant it back in the armchair and grapple with shoveling my food down, while trying not to burn the skin off the roof of my mouth.

The door opens five minutes later and Dwight reenters with the faint smell of smoke trailing him. I offer a cordial smile, but he just goes over to the stove and pours the rest of the chili mac into the bowl laid out. He looks over at the bed and then resigns to lean up against the wall to eat.

"It's good." I awkwardly note.

Dwight nods as he pokes his spoon around. "Yep."

"Thanks." I practically whisper after his gray response.

"Sure."

I turn my head in thought and that's when I realize that the pregnancy test is still on the little end table. "You don't have to make me meals, or anything," I look back at him, "I appreciate it, but I can manage."

"It's not that big of a deal," He peers down into his bowl, "If I'm making something for myself-"

"Why wouldn't you make something for me, too?" I recall him saying the same thing to me when I moved in with him the first time.

"Right." Dwight clears his throat.

I stand and I take the test with me as I walk the bowl to the kitchenette. I then toss the stick in the little trash bin, while catching him looking at me. "I don't think you're suppose to keep pregnancy tests, um, because there's urine on it."

He glances down at the bin and nods after a second, before moving pass me to put his bowl down. I decide to head for the showers before it's too late and because I think I stepped on some toes.

 **...**

"Hey." Laura quietly greets me as I step into the stall next to hers.

"Hi." I smile blandly as I set my shower stuff on the floor. I stole a bar of soap and some of that lovely shampoo that was under the bathroom sink up top, but I doubt the wives will notice, or even care.

Laura's eyes focus on my hand that hangs over the shower stall to keep the stitches dry. "How are you feeling?" She seems to be at odds with something. _My hand maybe?_

"I'm fine," I momentarily glance over at the other women who are unsubtle about whispering and staring, "You?" She wiggles her nose, still looking at my hand. "Laura?"

"I'm sorry?" She snaps out of it.

"I asked if you were okay." I lather my shampoo into my hair with one hand, which proves to be a chore.

"Oh, yeah, I'm okay." She smirks insincerely.

Her shower stops three minutes before mine, but I get out at the same time and dry off. "So...how long have you and Hal been hanging out?" I'm so bad at conversations. I either flat short, or dive on in, but I almost never fail to say something weird. _Hanging out? You mean having sex._

She has a blank expression as she glances over at me while dressing. "Not long," She casually answers, putting her boots on, "not as long as your marriage." I start to laugh, but she doesn't, so I refrain. "I have your bedding, by the way."

"My bedding?" I repeat, bewildered as we exit the showers.

"Yeah, remember you gave them to me," Laura combs her hair nonchalantly as she walks down the hall, "You can have 'em back, if you want 'em."

"Oh," I nod, still trying to figure out why she's so serious, "I guess if you don't mind."

"No, here." She opens her door and goes into her room. She sets her shower stuff and bomber jacket down, before going over to the closet. I wait in her door for her to bring me my white, folded sheets and quilt.

"Thanks," I press them to me, while trying to balance my sundries in my elbow, "Are you sure you're fine?"

Laura gazes over at me with a sober face. "I'm good. Later."

I back out of her room with a polite smile and carry my belongings to Dwight's room. I can hear his voice before I reach the corner. I also hear what sounds like Arat's dusky whispered chuckling. When I turn down the hall, I see her standing right outside his room, smiling, while he's in the frame with his arm resting on the door. They both share a laugh, about something I can't make out, except some part about Dwight going to "hold her to that."

Her bright face chastens when she sees me walking towards the door. "Hi." She nods her head in my direction.

"Hello." I softly rasp, coming into view of Dwight's vacant face. _Is he upset?_

"Uh, so I'll catch ya later, then?" Arat uncomfortably clears her throat.

Dwight looks back at her. "Yeah, sure thing." Arat gives me an indifferent smile, before starting for the third floor where she lives. Dwight and I stare briefly at each other, before he stands aside for me to enter the room. I put my soap and shampoo away, while he sits down in his chair.

"I hope I didn't interrupt."

"You didn't." He says, taking his knife to the same figure from before.

"Okay." I sigh, beginning to strip the bed, so that I can put my bedding on. Arat and Dwight? Am I just being silly, or did I just witness some type of flirting? _Stop. You don't get to be upset._ I splay the blanket over the paletted mattress without any concern of fully making the bed, since I'm just going to lie down.

Once that's done, I pull my shirt up over my head and begin to undress for bed. I roll my neck and shoulders, before rudely folding my clothes and putting them on my trunk. Then, I get into bed without knowledge that Dwight's been watching me this whole time, until I turn my head his way. He returns to carving when he's discovered.

"Did you sleep there last night?" I murmur, rolling over onto my side.

"Yeah." He answers just as quietly. _Liar._ I know he probably didn't sleep at all.

"You don't have to," My words make him turn his head, which makes me drop my gaze, "I mean...the bed's not very big, but I could move back by the wall."

"It's fine." Dwight replies.

"I just-"

"I don't mind."

"Okay." I turn myself the other way and close my eyes.

 **...**

 _"Nan!" Nate jogs up to me as I make my way from the camp we all squat in like vagrants in the woods. "Nan, stop!"_

 _"You should go back." I tell him emotionlessly as I drudge through the mud._

 _"Come back with me and I will."_

 _I stop and turn to face him. "I made up my mind last night," I flick sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, "I'll be fine." Maybe._

 _"So, what?" Nate huffs sorely. "You're just gonna up and leave? Where to?"_

 _"I don't know," I continue my walk to the road a mile eastward from camp, "Who really has a fixed point, nowadays."_

 _"Nan, you should stay with us. It's safer."_

 _"And even then, there's no guarantees." I acridly retort, gripping the straps of my backpack. A rotter, melded into some vegetation by the muddy bog snarls as we pass it, reaching out as if asking for help to be pulled from the mud it's been stuck in for what looks like a long time._

 _"C'mon, don't be stupid," Nate urges, "I'm sorry about Charlie, but I'd be even more sorry if you died because you went off on your own."_

 _"I'm not your obligation."_

 _"No, but Charlie was my friend and so are you. I want the right thing here."_

 _"The right thing," I whip around, "would be to go back and leave me alone!" Nate looks at me like I'm insane. "Go be with your wife and your son."_

 _"Nan-"_

 _"I lost everything!" I shriek, although I don't mean to. "I lost my family, I lost Elizabeth, and now..." I look off into the trees. "I didn't even get to bury him. I had to leave him laying there under a table cloth while everything burned around us and the dead..."_

 _"Others lost people, too."_

 _"I don't care," I coldly state, once again walking to the road, "I want to be alone, Nate. So, leave me alone."_

 _He huffs, defeated behind me. "So, this is goodbye? Just like that?"_

 _"I guess so."_

 _"You shouldn't be on the roads!" He yells at me. "It's not safe!"_

 _I scoff. "Yeah, I know not to get into cars with strangers_ _."_

 **...**

I groan as I stir from my sleep. My body shifts to the opposite side, as the scent of pancakes and eggs hit me. I hear a soft sizzling sound, followed by a flop and I rub my eyes to see what's going on. I sit myself up and find Dwight over by the stove. He pushes something with a spatula on the pan.

Dwight clicks the stove off and turns around. Our eyes meet and I'm fit to melt into a pool at his feet, like he'll never believe. "Hi."

"Hey." He lifts two small pancakes onto a plate and then some scrambled eggs. He then walks over to me and extends the plate out. "Here."

I take it and swallow to stifle the nausea I get from the eggs, as well as the pancake batter, which I never thought would afflict me, but it does. "Thank you." I manage to say without gagging, but just barely.

"Oh, um..." Dwight gets into the fridge, "Here." He hands me a mason jar that's half filled with syrup.

I twist the lid off and let the sticky appetite saver weave through my eggs and pancakes that I've discovered have blueberries in them. "Thank you," I repeat, flushing.

"It's no problem." He has a seat in his chair.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

I eat with a strained ease, trying not to demolish my breakfast so quickly. After I eat my pancakes, I peer over at Dwight's hands as one holds the wood, while the other whittles with the knife thoughtfully. _Say something._ "Um, Dwight?"

He looks my way, mildly grossed out by my syrup drizzled eggs. "Yeah?"

"I really do appreciate it."

Dwight cocks his brow slightly, glancing down at the plate. "Well, it's...no problem."

"No, I mean..."I want to say so much, but the words stick in my throat.

"I'm just trying to do the right thing, Nan." He sighs.

"The right thing?"

"Yeah," He stands up and walks over to a drawer, opening it, "I, uh, I want to help you, because that's what you're supposed to do in this situation, you know? Take responsibility."

It stings, but I keep from tearing up, or showing any signs of anguish. "I see." I also stand as he puts the wooden figure in the drawer and fishes out his cigarettes and lighter.

Dwight stares down at his pack of cigarettes, fiddling with the paper. I start to move forward to put my plate in the sink, but he reaches out for it and so I hand it to him. His eyes catch my broken hand. "What happened to your hand again?"

"It got caught in a door." I hold it in my other hand.

"Was he the one that closed the door?" His gaze subdues me.

"It was an-"

"Accident?" He scoffs through his nose.

My head lowers in shame, as I nod. "He didn't know my hand was there."

"Yeah, well, I gotta go," He heads for the door, opening and looking back at me, " I'll see you later."

 **...**

Around three- thirty, I go into the infirmary to collect the logs. Harlan smiles and gladly hands them to me. "How are you today?"

I look over the logs, before I put my hand out for his pen. "I'm okay." I reply as I write down "pregnancy test - 1" in one of the columns, signing my initials to it and then going right under that and putting down, "prenatal vitamins- 7."

"Is there something wrong?" Harlan asks.

I mark down my 'A.H.' in the second row, before speaking. "No, I'm just accounting for the test and the vitamins."

"Are you sure that's a-"

"I really appreciate what you're trying to do, but every hour that goes by that Negan doesn't know is another pound of stress that I don't need, so I have just have to get it over with." I look at him with some sense of confidence in my decision. "The more I wait, the more stressed I'm going to be."

"I understand," The doctor smiles uneasily, "In my line of work, I saw...similar situations before, so I know how hard it can be for mother and child."

"Well, I've got to get back to Reed, before he radios me." I touch the radio Reed gave me this morning, asserting I should have it, even though I said I didn't need one.

"Alright, have a good evening."

"Alright." I close the door behind me and head to the office.

I don't outwardly acknowledge the stares and hushed words being said about me as I carry the log to Reed. I get bits and pieces of what each one is saying, but I'm uninterested. I've got bigger problems to tackle.

The only time I've seen Negan since two nights ago, was the back of him as he was walking out to the chicken coops to make his appearance rounds. I've heard him a few times through the radio, but other than that I haven't had to deal with him. Which, let's be honest, I'm not too heartbroken over after how things ended.

The only reason I'm thinking about him now is because his name struck my ears as I passed two women in the hall and because I have a burning feeling that I'm about to have a face to face with him soon. It's for the best.

If I don't make it known now, then I'll go back to my ways of trying to hide it until I reach the end of the rope without a prayer. I'd be right back to where I started. Right back to being the girl who hurt Charlie and who Dwight kicked out in the first place. So, I'm trying to do what right I can do.

I open Reed's office and catch Reed taking out a pair of glasses from his jacket pocket. "You wear glasses?" I've never seen him wear glasses.

He glimpses over at me as he puts them on and brushes some hair back out of his face. "Yeah, I've had them for awhile, but I never wear the damn things."

"So, why now?" I scoot back the chair across from him to sit.

" 'Cause I've fucked up my sight even worse, doing all the books." He squints down at the logs in front of him. "Now, I'm stuck with 'em."

"I use to have glasses."

Reed doesn't look up from his work. "Oh, yeah? Nearsighted, or farsighted?"

"Nearsighted," I answer, "I played piano, so I had to read sheet music and...read in the dark a lot."

"You seem to do just fine without them."

"I hold books out when I read and that's why I keep asking you if that's a number, or an initial."

He snickers. "I kept wondering if you were dyslexic, but I didn't want to be rude, or nothing." Reed pulls open a drawer and rummages around, before bringing forth a pair of glasses. "Here, these are a back up pair. They're a little too feminine for my taste."

"What will you do if you need them?" I take them between my fingers, inspecting the tortoise shell frames.

"Well, then you're shit out of..." Reed's brows furrow below his glasses, as he reads the infirmary logs, "luck." I sit in small anticipation, waiting for him to look up. He does with a confounded lip curl, then takes a second look at the logs, and then points down with his pen. "Uh, is this-"

"Yes." I answer without letting him finish.

Reed's tongues glides across his bottom lip to the corner of his mouth. "Alright."

We work in thick silence until five- thirty. I stand when Reed does and we leave his office promptly. The way Reed locks the door indicates that he's not too thrilled to have to go up to meet Negan.

"I can take the book up to him, if you want." I offer.

He looks me over, pausing on my hand. "No, I got it."

 **...**

I return to Dwight's room before he does, so I figured I'll make dinner. I don't want him to always do it. I don't need to be taken care of. As the noodles boil on this stove, I remove my shoes and step up on the bed to open the window. The steam is making it a little warm in here. I look at the desk clock over on the shelf and see that it's almost six- thirty. Negan's had to have read the logs by now.

I drain the noodles and pour the spaghetti sauce over them as soon as I transfer them back to the pot they cooked in. I stir, looking back at the clock. _Where's Dwight at?_ I make my plate and put some syrup on top of it when the smell takes me by surprise. I sit down and eat alone, nervously wondering where Dwight is. _You don't get to be upset._

At about eight- fifteen, I return from the bathroom after brushing my teeth and washing my face. I had to brush twice, after throwing up right after I got done the first time. I ate both helpings of spaghetti, after Dwight didn't show. He's still not in when I come back, but I keep telling myself that I'm not allowed to be like this, because we aren't "together." Still, it does feel tempting to take up Laura, or Hal on their offers. Not as a spiteful thing, but because I'm starting to think that we shouldn't live together. At least not yet.

I take a prenatal vitamin, because I forgot to take it this morning. Oh, god, it's so think and unpleasant to take. After undressing for bed, I comb out my hair and begin to braid it before I lie down. I tie the end off with my hair tie and sigh, resolving to maybe watch one of Dwight's video's. I put in The Golden Girls and am about press the play button, when a thunderous _BOOM- BOOM- BOOM_ pounds on the door from the other side.

* * *

 **Uh-oh, Nan's in for it next chapter!**

 **Guest 1: It's good to know my story makes waking up that early on a Saturday worthwhile! Dwight took her in because it was the "right thing", but he could have some other, unshared reasons as well. *wink* *wink***

 **Guest 2: I'm humbled by your review. I always appreciate feedback on my writing, so thank you! I'm also glad you've come to wants good things for Nan, because it makes me feel like I've done a good job with my OC. I think I may have lost a few readers after she married Negan, so it's good to know that she didn't totally fall out of favor with readers. And you're right; Nan may have liked Negan a little more than she was aware, but she mind does tend to gravitate towards Dwight.**

 **FriendsWithTheMonster: Thanks for kindness, although I hardly call the chapter "flawless" lol! I'm always scouring every new chapter for errors I missed!**

 **JaliceJelsa4eva: I can't say for certain who's the father of Nan's baby, but what sort of story doesn't have the occasional soap opera-esque drama lol!**

 **: I almost spit out the iced tea I was drinking when I read your comment! I laughed for a good solid five!**

 **snowbunnie: Yes, Negan fucked up. Big time. The baby's father will be revealed in due time...**

 **SaintsFan1: I'm not at all offended! You're welcome to put out your thoughts and feelings toward the baby question; everyone is! I agree with you that Dwight is a cool character (comics and show) and he definitely deserves some more love and recognition, it's one of the reasons I started writing this fic. I think he gets such a bad wrap because he was an asshole to Daryl on the show (as well as Denise's killer and b/c he framed Carson) but since Daryl has such a huge fan base and Dwight has acted like a straight up dick, people tend to over look his better qualities or to even investigate the character. I'm always up to bat for Dwighty boy!**

 **nmoxracha: Aw, does that mean you like both Dwight and Negan as potentials fathers/love interests? I can't say I wholly share your torn feeling, but I get it. They're both hot candidates. ;)**

 **PruRose: As always, thank you for such gracious words! I love that my OCs are well loved and that you can see them as actual people! Thank you for also pointing out the, perhaps, permanent repercussions for what happened last chapter and it would be sad if that's the fate of things. I'm also glad my story could make you like Dwight! To answer your question, Negan does like Nan, but to what extent? Who knows? ;) But you're right, he is capable of love.**

 **StTudnoBright: I like your thoughts on the paternity, because it is something I've been mulling around from the beginning, although I can't make promises. Yes, Negan's reaction to Nan's departure is quite different to how he dealt with Amber. As to why he responded the way he did is something that may unravel in later chapters.**


	31. We Aren't Ready

"If it's right, it happens - The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away." - John Steinbeck

* * *

The sound of my heart thumping in my ears is nearly just as loud as the dreadful triple boom that just struck the door. I don't need to wonder, or bother to ask who it is, because I know exactly who pummeled his baseball bat against Dwight's door.

"Just a second!" I call out with hoarseness in my voice.

My eyes flit around the room and I hurriedly tip toe to get my pants. I practically jump into them and grab the nearest shirt, which happens to be Dwight's, and bring it around me while going to the door. _One- two- three- four -five._

His face is greatly sober, as he stands in the very middle of the way with Lucille resting on his leather shoulder. I hold the blue flannel closed as I stare at him with big saucer eyes.

"Can I come in?" He asks as he stalks in.

I close the door after he enters and button the shirt before turning myself around. Negan's taking note of the room, stopping when he spies my trunk, and then shifts to face me.

"Boy, you work fast, huh?" Negan chuckles, circling his finger around the room. "This is the first place I looked and, I have to admit, I'm a little fuckin' disappointed that I found you so easily."

"Why were you looking for me?" I play coy, looking away from him when his eyes observe the familiar shirt.

"Why was I-?" Negan laughs acridly. "Why do you think I was fucking looking for you?"

"I don't know." I cross my arms, staying by the door.

"You don't know?" Negan sits down in the armchair and lays Lucille across his lap. "See, I think you're lyin' to me, Anna. I think you know exactly what I sniffed you out for."

I twist my mouth to the side and nod, relenting. "Yeah." I merely utter.

"Yeah." He nods as well with a stern smile. "So...I'm sure you can imagine that we have some things to hash out right fuckin' now."

I exhale. "Mm-hm."

"Mm-hm, why don't you have a seat?" Negan points to the bed.

"I'm okay."

"I insist."

 _Where the hell is Dwight?_ "I'd actually prefer to stand."

Negan purses his lips in agitation, before chuckling under his breath. "Damn, you really are ballsy, talking to me with that tone of voice."

"I didn't mean to sound rude." I mutter.

He smiles, dropping Lucille between his legs and tapping her on the rug. "Do you not offer guests something to drink?"

Is he serious right now? "What do you want?"

"Whatever Dwight has in his fridge is fine, I'm sure." He gleams.

I go over to the fridge, keeping myself at a distance as I do. I open it and grab a beer, while glancing over at the desk clock. It's just now nine o'clock and Dwight isn't here. I pad barefoot over to the chair. "Here." I hand Negan the beer.

"Got a bottle opener?" He grins, making me turn to the drawer where I think one would be.

"Here." I offer him the Virginia Beach souvenir bottle opener key chain that's shaped like a brass mermaid that I manage to find in the drawer. Negan smiles a little wider, holding the beer up. I sigh, before taking it from him and using the tail of the mermaid to pop the top off the bottle, letting the cap ting- ting on the floor.

"Thank you kindly." Negan takes a sip, letting out an exaggerated 'Ah!' after he swallows. "Sit down."

Like last time, I just stand by. "So, you've read the books?"

"Damn skippy, I did," He tilts the bottle back, "I had to do a fuckin' double take just to be sure I read correctly. I even asked Reed since he's got those specs now and he said that it was accurate."

I shift where I'm standing. "Mhm."

Our eyes meet and his gaze pierces mine so intensely. "Are you pregnant?"

"Yes," I nod my head, not breaking from his stare, "I am."

"Yes?" Negan sets the beer down on the end table and leans forward, intrigued. "When were you planning on fuckin' telling me?"

"I just found out today." I tell him.

"You didn't get away with lying the first fucking time, so why are you trying at it again?"

"I don't know what you-"

"You barge in when I'm _this_ close to blowin' my load and announce you're leaving me and then," He stands up, "give me some bullshit excuse as to why you're leaving me. And then, not two whole days later, the doctor's putting you down for a test and a handful of vitamins? Don't play games with me, sweetheart."

I put my hands to my stomach, which makes his eyes flicker down. "I figured it out myself a few days ago and I went in today to verify."

"Harlan didn't 'figure it out' when you went to see him before?"

"No," I shake my head, "He only checked my vitals."

Negan takes a step towards me, reading my face. "Okay, I believe you...because I'd hate to think that you coerced the doctor to gamble with his life and break the rules."

"I wouldn't do that." I lie with a bold face.

"I sure hope so," He comes a little closer, "Where's Dwighty boy at? Off to the showers before round two?" His fingers fix the collar on the flannel.

"We aren't having-," I roll my eyes, buttoning another button, "I don't know where he is."

Negan nods in thought. "Does he know you're knocked up?"

"Yes, of course he does." I scoff, moving to the left to get around him.

"Of course he does," He mimics me with a throaty chuckle, "Is that because you told him it was his?"

"It is his."

"Really?" Negan huffs, sticking his tongue in his cheek. "Is that fact?"

"Yes, it is."

He laughs sarcastically. "How do you know?"

"Because, I just do." I continue to wander the room, just outside his grasp.

"Well, sweetheart, I find that most of the time that people think they know shit; turns out they fucking don't."

"So, you think it's yours?" I look at him in the eye.

He smiles with a closed mouth. "Yes."

"Well, maybe this is one of those times where someone thinks they know shit, when they don't."

"Careful how you're talking to me, Nan," Negan's plain smile dwindles, "You may have been able to get away with that shit before, but I wouldn't press my luck, honey."

"You gonna break my other hand?" I quietly challenge.

His face is all but humored now. "That was a fucking accident."

"Still happened," I point out, cradling my broken hand, "Why? Because I said I was leaving you."

"No. Because you stuck your fucking hand in the way, right as I was slamming the door, _and_ the only reason I slammed the fucking door was because you threw a motherfucking vase at my head. Lucky thing you missed, too."

"Lucky?" I huff, incredulously, "That was wrong of me and I shouldn't have done it, but that doesn't justify slamming my hand in the door."

"I didn't do it on purpose and you know it." His tone is the tone of a man who's trying his hardest not to yell, which he usually has no problems with. "And I fucking apologized."

"Yeah, well," I fiddle around with my splint, "My grandma always said that men who hurt you are always sorry, but never enough to change."

"You think I'm one of those guys?" He scowls.

I sigh, tired and wanting this conversation to end. "I don't know what kind of man you are."

Negan walks over to me, Lucille in hand, but I am not afraid. "How do you know for goddamn certain that it isn't mine, huh? You and I-"

"Dwight and I had an accident about two weeks before I married you." I cut him off before he has a chance to say anything about him and I. He scoffs as if I'm making it up, so I saucily arch my brow. "He bent me over the back of that chair," I tilt my head towards the chair, " I wanted him to and when he came, he wasn't sure if he pulled out in time." Negan's eyes interrogate every muscle and nerve in my face. "I told him he had, but I guess I don't know shit, right?"

Negan's grave face leans down until his mouth is parallel to my ear. "I am getting seriously turned out right now." He laughs in my face and I feel like slapping him, but think better of it.

"It's his, Negan." I fold my arms, ignoring his behavior.

He chuckles a few more times. "Did Harlan say so?"

"No," I give him a funny look, "how could he possibly know that?"

He shrugs. "How far along are you?"

"Eight to ten weeks, approximately."

"Eight to ten, huh?" Negan smirks. "So, there's a good chance that Dwight is not the father."

"No, that-"

"Because that little 'accident' could've been something, but it could also have been nothing, am I right?"

I look away from him. "I guess it's possi-"

"Possible? Of course it fucking is, I know sex- ed like the back of my hand!" He wiggles the back of his fingers.

I'm a little befuddled at his statement, but I don't ask. "Well, it's not yours."

"You don't seem too sure about that, darlin'." His cologne ensnares me. "There is a fairly good chance that you and I weren't always careful when we were making the fuckin' beast with two backs. That's true, right?"

My eyes look over to the clock. Nine- twenty. "Yes."

"Yep," His fingers brush a loose strand of hair from my face, "So, is that why you left? You thought I'd be mad?"

I shake my head and open my mouth to speak.

"'Cause I'm not mad at you, Nan," Negan tilts my chin up to meet his human gaze, "Well, I am a little pissed that you dumped me, but I'm not mad that you're pregnant."

I furrow my brows. "You're not?"

"No, I'm not." He sweeps the same piece, even though it's not out of order. "I know I said that you can't come back once you-"

"Whoa, come back?" My eyes intensify. "What do you mean come back?"

"I might be an asshole, but I ain't the sort of asshole that'd let a woman I knocked up raise my kid on her own. I am a stand up guy!" He laughs to himself. "So, why don't you come back home with me and we'll send for your things. Call all of this another bump in the road. Figuratively and literally, 'cause you're gonna get big." He makes a rounding motion to illustrate a pregnant belly with his hand.

I step back, making a desperate "T" with my hands. "Hold on, time out. I already told you the baby isn't yours."

Negan smiles and rolls his eyes. "But you don't know that the kid's Dwight's either."

"It is his, Negan." I make each word clear for him.

"You just said it was possible that you and I weren't careful enough. I mean, there is a one in four chance that the pull out method won't work."

"No, you said that. I just said-"

"That it was true."

"Stop!" I sharply whisper, putting up my hand. "Dwight's the father."

"Who are you trying to convince? Me," His face is perfectly frank, "Or you?"

A sneaky tear slithers down my face, but I wipe it away. "If I thought it was yours, if I earnestly believed that you were the father, Negan, I would have stayed." Negan stares at me with a look of frustration, although he's still smiling. "But, it's not."

"You don't know that."

"I do," I clarify, "I do, because I felt sick before I married you. Like I had throughout our...marriage...but I thought I just had the flu, or something." Negan's eyes darken. "It's his and I'm not going back up there with you."

Negan glowers, sliding his tongues across his bottom lip and looking off to the door. "You're so damn sure?"

"I am."

He scoffs, and then looks back at me. "Well, we'll see, won't we?"

"What does that mean?" I question.

"Well, come time to take the turkey out of the oven, you might not be so sure, Dwight not might be so sure, and you might not have a leg to stand on."

I huff, putting a hand on my hip. "You think Dwight will kick me out?"

"Why would he want a lady and her baby, that's not his, living with him in such a finite fucking space? For front row seats to the peep show when you nurse?" Negan grins like the asshole he is.

I chuckle derisively. "You know? I'm really tired. Can you please leave?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," He pecks me on the forehead before I know what hits me, "Take care." He opens the door and starts to go. "Of you _and_ the little sea monkey."

His laugh digs at me and I close my eyes and breathe, as soon as the door closes. I scratch my nose ring and glance at the beer he didn't finish. The clock reads nine thirty-five, much to my anger. I snatch up the beer bottle and take it over to the sink. _Calm down, take deep breaths._ I forcibly throw the bottle down into the sink and it breaks into pieces, the sudsy beverage hissing down the drain. Fuck!

 **...**

The Golden Girls are really on a roll tonight, but I'm so mad, I can't even force a laugh. The glow flickers off me and everything that the light of the television can reach in the dark room. I sit in my underwear on the bed, one foot touching the floor while the other is curled close to me, as I numbly watch Blanche romanticize some romp with her date the night before.

The desk clock says it's three minutes to one in the morning, when the door slowly opens. Dwight staggers in and I could gag at the stench of alcohol that follows him. He closes the door softly, having turned around as soon as he got in and, apparently, not seeing that I'm awake. That, or he's too drunk to think clearly. He halts when our eyes lock.

"Hey."

"Hi." I reply drably.

"...Um, what are you- what are you doing?" His speech is stammered like the last time.

"I was watching T.V.," I point to screen, "waiting for you to get in."

"Oh." He snickers, but I don't think he even knows why. Dwight fumbles to get his vest and shoes off at the same time, falling back on the door for support. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well, if I had known you'd be so late, I wouldn't have waited up."

Dwight laughs drunkenly. "I didn't know I had to...um, had to check in."

 _He's right._ I look down with flustered cheeks. I can feel my lips form to a pout. "I just...I made spaghetti."

"Oh...well, did you put it the...the fridge?"

"No, I ate it." I pull my leg up to the bed when Dwight shuffles to the armchair and lets out a groaning sigh as he plops down.

"I was with Arat," He runs his fingers through his hair, "I stayed longer than I thought."

 _You don't get to be upset._ "You like her?"

"Yeah, she's alright."

"Did you...did you sleep with her?" The only reason I ask is because he's drunk and won't remember my borderline jealousy in the morning.

He turns his head my way and looks me over. "You look nice."

I blush down at my lingerie and stand up, pulling the blankets back and laying down to go to sleep. The sound of the T.V. doesn't go away, so I just block it out as I slip under.

 **...**

I'm woken up this morning by the wispy breeze from the open window, swirling in and giving me goose bumps. I glance at the clock. Six on the dot. The sound of Dwight vomiting in the waste bin makes me cringe, but it doesn't compel me to gag like it usually would. I almost feel bad for him. Hunched over on his knees with his hands gripping the pale.

Dwight looks over, sniffing. "Mornin'." He manages, before arching over and hurling.

"Morning." I reply with a dry throat.

"Sorry." He spits in the bin.

"No worries." I mumble, getting up, throwing on the flannel I wore last night, and heading to the fridge. As much as I'd like to just let him fend for himself, my better self decides different. Well, that and I'm hungry. I make us both eggs and toast with a little honey I found in his fridge. The smell of honey counteracts my nausea, so I don't have to put anything but some paprika on my eggs. "Here."

He glances at the scrambled eggs and pukes again. "I'm okay."

"Eggs are good for hangovers, if you get past the smell," I set it down on the end table and then sit in the chair with my plate, "so is toast and honey." The godly aroma of coffee enters the air. "And coffee."

"Thanks." Dwight puts his hand on his knee and rises up. He skulks over to the coffee pot and pours some into a mug. "Is that broken glass?"

I look over my shoulder and find him peering down into the sink with his coffee in hand. "Yeah," I take what can never be described as a 'nibble' of my toast, "it's from a beer bottle."

Dead- pan silence. "You drank beer?"

"No, Negan did." I answer nonchalantly.

Dwight walks into sight, leaning up against the door. "Negan was here?" His empty hand rests on the door handle.

I stare at the hand for a second, before looking up at his serious face. "Yes, he was. He knocked on the door around nine o'clock, came in, and asked a beer."

"What did he want?"

I chew my eggs. "He found out I was pregnant."

He shifts his body disconcertingly. "I-I'm sorry what?" He winces at the sunlight like a vampire.

I get up to make myself a cup of coffee. "He didn't know I was pregnant until last night after he read the books."

Dwight's eyes are on me like heat seeking missiles, but I think he's more shocked than furious. "I don't understand, what you do mean he didn't know?"

"He didn't know I was pregnant." I stir some milk into my cup. "I didn't tell him when I left him."

"...Well, why not?"

I make eye contact with him. "I was planning on it," I sit back down, "but when he didn't take the news that I was leaving him well, I didn't think it was the best timing."

"So, why did he think you left him? Wait, you took the test before you left him, right, so how did he not know?" Dwight groans after he finishes that sentences, striding over to the bed and sitting down so he's not facing the light.

"I asked Harlan not to put it down when I found out, because I...I knew it wasn't his and I needed to figure out how to break it to him." My cheeks flush when Dwight notices I'm wearing his flannel shirt. "And, um, I told him that I was leaving him because I wasn't happy being with him. It was the truth, I wasn't."

Dwight looks down into his coffee and nods. "He wanted to know if it was his?"

"Yeah, he did."

He's silent for ten minutes, evidently not too happy. I stand up again to put my plate away. "Can you hand me an aspirin?"

"Yeah, sure." I walk behind the chair, take the bottle in my hands, twist the top off, pluck out a pill, and stick the bottle back on the shelf. "Here you go."

"Thanks." He eyes me as I drop the aspirin in his palm. "Are you...alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I say, as I get into my trunk to bring out fresher clothes.

"You just seem mad."

With my back to him and his shirt acting as a type of robe, I change my underwear. "No," I shrug the shirt off and reach for the matching bra, "I'm not mad."

Dwight's exhales, grabbing his plate from the table. "Nan, you are too, so just tell me what I did."

I scoff, pulling my black jeans on. "I'm not mad at you."

"Whatever."

I start to put on my shoes. "You were with Arat last night?"

His fork abruptly clinks against the plate. "Uh, yeah?" Dwight knitted brows ask why I'm asking.

I pick my thumb, pissed off with myself. "I have to go to work."

 **...**

Reed's pouring something from a flask into his steamy coffee mug when I come into his office. "A little hair of the dog." He explains as he circles his mug to stir the liquids together.

"Was everyone drinking last night?" I utter under my breath.

"Sorry?" He asks, drinking his coffee.

"Nothing." I take up the clipboard that has what Reed's divided up for me for the day. I notice Reed glancing me over and I'm really hoping he'll be his usual self and not care to ask.

He stares up at me, tipping his cup back. "Feel free to start without me."

The day goes relatively smoothly, except for the looks and whispers I've been getting, but it's what you'd expect. Everyone's got an opinion, or theory as to why I'm no longer married to Negan. Out by the coops, I heard some whisper of me not being good enough in bed to satisfy Negan.

While I was having the Savior that mans the commissary take inventory, I caught wind of something about me being more interested in the other wives than him. And while that's within the realm of possibility, I still rolled my eyes when I heard it.

On my way to collect the logs from the infirmary, Marisol blindsides me. "Hey!"

"Hey." I greet back while walking across the floor.

"You're pregnant?" Her question has me stop in my tracks.

I look at her inquisitive face. "What?"

"I heard some people talking about it out in the yard." She elaborates.

"Talking about it? Well, how...who?" My hearts picks up like a rabbit's. _Negan told people?_

"Bunch of people," Marisol follows me to the stairs, "This Savior woman told Cooper she heard it on good authority."

"Who?"

"It is true, though?" She stops right before we enter the stairwell. "Are you?"

I look off to make sure no one's around, before sighing. "Yes, alright? I am."

"That why you've been helping me?"

"No, I didn't know until like three days ago."

She looks down at my gnarly hand. "Oh."

"Who was the woman talking to Cooper?"

"Uh, I think her name's Vivian."

"Okay," I walk into the stairwell, "I have to go."

 _Vivian?_ The redhead that lives next to Mark? How the hell did she find out? I stop off at Dwight's room to get the copy of Jane Eyre I need to return to the library. When I open the door, to my surprise, Dwight's laying on the bed with his arm stretched over his eyes like a mask. He looks so placid.

I suppose it wasn't really fair of me to be mad at him for not being here when Negan came last night. He didn't know. By the shallow rise and fall of his chest, I can tell he's asleep. I quietly get in and out, trying not to disturb him.

I hear some talking in the infirmary, so I knock on the door. Harlan tells me to come in and I find him stitching a gash on Gary's arm. Gary gives me the up and down, smiling when our eyes meet. I nervously smile back and walk over to Harlan's desk, sitting down in his chair.

"How's it goin'?"

"Fine." I claim, swiveling in Harlan's chair to face his desk.

"There you go," Harlan says and I can hear the sound of his gloves being ripped off his hands, "Come back in about seven days and we'll see if they're ready to come out."

"Thanks, doc." Gary shakes Harlan's hand as he gets up, signs his initials to the log, and the strolls to the exit. "Later, sweetheart."

As the door closes, Harlan turns towards me, scanning my figure as if to assess for injuries. "Are the logs ready for me to take?" I ask to deter him from asking if Negan talked to me.

"Yeah, go ahead." He hands me the logbook. "Uh, how are you?"

"I'm fine." I smile at him, heading out.

"You have your first check up next week," I look over my shoulder at him, "Um, on Tuesday."

"Yeah, I'll be there." I say, leaving.

Lillian's not in the library when I return the book, so I just set it down on her cart and pick up Frankenstein, before leaving promptly to go back to Reed's office. When I open the door, I'm met with Reed's arduous looking face. He doesn't say anything to my questioning brows; he just puts his hand out for the logs.

"You can go for the day," He informs me, with a forced politeness, "I've got it covered."

"Well, Negan said I had to pull my weight, so I'll stay. It's no problem."

"Nah, go ahead. I've already done most of it." Reed insists with a wincing face. Must be the hangover.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, go."

I close his door and hear Negan's big mouth ordering someone to do something. As much as I'd like to slink past him and go back to my room, I walk towards him with determination. The look from the man he's talking to signals for him to turn and he beams.

"Well," Negan shifts his body all the way to face me, "good afternoon, mama bear."

"Don't call me that!" I harshly whisper, after the man Negan was ordering to walks off.

"Why not, mama bear?" He chuckles as he strides to the stairs.

"Did you tell anyone I was pregnant?" I follow him.

"Did I what?"

"Did you tell anyone that I was pregnant?" I repeat, ignoring the glances I receive as we walk together.

"Mm, nope," He holds the door open for me, "I don't have time to fuckin' gossip."

"You told me that you hear everything."

"Doesn't mean I contribute to the chatter." He stops in the halfway point in the stairs. "Why?"

"Because everyone's talking," I look away from his gaze, "You find out and the next day almost everyone knows."

"Maybe Dwight spilled the beans, because he got so damn stoked, thinking he's gonna be a dad, and gotta little loose lipped."

"He didn't," I scoff, "and he is going to be a dad." It sounds so weird to say it out loud.

"So you say," Negan sighs, reaching over to mess with my ponytail that's draped over my shoulder, "I didn't say a word, not even to the back of Tonya's head last night."

I let out a disgusted guffaw. "Charming."

"Ever and always." He, out of nowhere, leans down, but I step around him.

"I told you, I can't do that anymore." I climb the stairs.

"Thanks for the view." He jokes, coming up the stairs, too. "So, Laura and him still rockin' palettes, or did she cut him loose?"

I roll my eyes, treading a little faster to the Dwight's door. I can't believe he still buys that. "I don't know. I haven't thought to ask."

Negan laughs. "I'm guessing having a pregnant woman living with you has to be a major cock block."

"This is my stop." I dryly say, putting my hand on the handle.

His smile lessens. "Come up and see me sometime."

I don't say anything, I just look at him with a fed up expression. He hesitates, or appears to hesitate, before walking off down the hall.

I enter and am a little saddened that Dwight isn't here. Again. I don't think he left his room at all today, until now, but I guess he's one of the few people who can around here. At least the waste bin he was hugging is cleaned out. I find a few potatoes in a crate by the fridge and decide to make dinner for myself and him, if he comes back soon.

After washing the potatoes in the sink, I sit down in the armchair and peel them with a small knife into the trash. It's therapeutic and allows me to think about some things.

 **...**

The door opens and Dwight comes in an hour or so later. He looks over at the mashed potatoes and the pan- fried trout on the stove.

"I made dinner." I say, reading my book and forking a piece of trout.

Dwight goes over to the stove, a little uneasy for some reason. "Where'd you get the fish?"

"The kitchens," I answer coolly, "I went down to see if anyone went fishing today, while the potatoes were boiling."

He nods and picks up a plate. "Thanks."

"No problem." I watch him through my peripheral vision, trying to figure out what to say. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

We eat without talking for a good while, neither of us naturals at conversing, especially given the situation.

"What's in the potatoes?"

"Dill," I reply, swirling my fork mine, "and a little butter. My grandma made them that way."

"It's good." He says.

"Thanks." I grin lightly to myself.

Dwight takes my dish when we're both done and does the dishes. I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. Rachel, the woman who use to be my neighbor is showering next to a woman, who upon seeing me, turns to her and says something low. She stares softly at me and doesn't respond to whatever the woman said. I leave without any signs of caring about whatever rude thing was said about me.

Hazel had a good point the other day. It's really easy to judge another person without knowing them, or they're motives. I may have been married to Negan, which practically meant selling my body to him, but I'm no less worry of respect or basic human decency than any other person here.

Dwight's taking off his boots when I get back in, seated in the armchair that he's slept in the past few nights.

"Um, Dwight?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to sleep there." He peers over at me, undressing by my trunk. "It has to be uncomfortable. We can trade if you want."

"It's okay, I really don't mind."

"I'm putting you out." I mutter under my breath, low enough that he can't hear. I pull out the paper Harlan gave me and close my trunk. I get into bed and lay on my back, traipsing my fingers around my stomach as my eyes wander the hand drawn lines and doctor scribbles.

Dwight whittles in silence and my attention drifts to his hands at work after some time, so I rest the paper on me. The open window whistles in a chilly gust of wind that carries the paper off my belly and across the room by the door.

I stand up on the bed and shut the little window. I then turn around and see Dwight over by the door, picking up the paper off the floor.

"Here." He comes over and offers it to me.

"Thanks." I take it and look shyly down at the paper.

"What is it?"

"The doctor made it for me, so I could keep track of the weeks and my scheduled appointments." I explain, lifting my eyes to him. "Would you like to see?"

Dwight takes back the paper and glances down at it, as I step off the bed. He turns the paper delicately over. "It'll be nine months in November?"

"Uh, yeah." I rasp, nodding. "Well, approximately."

"I was born in November." He notes in a murmur, before handing me the paper.

I bleakly smile. "Maybe you'll share a birthstone."

Dwight looks up at me. A birthstone? _Get it together._ My flushing cheeks are alleviated when the corners of his mouth tips up into humored half- smile. His eyes glance over me, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and my underwear and I feel like I could crumble.

When our eyes meet again, we remain still for what feels like an eternity. My foot braves carefully forward and my body shifts closer to him. I crane my head over and slightly extend myself up on my toes, and Dwight moves to meet me halfway.

Our mouths brush against each other and I gingerly close in, but as soon as my hand touches his arm, Dwight breaks away.

"I'm sorry," He exhales, running his hand down his beard, "I...I can't."

My cheeks flare with embarrassment. "O-okay." I move back to the bed.

"I'm sorry, it's not that-"

"It's okay," I reassure with a nearly trembling voice, "I, um, I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

"Nan, I-"

"It's okay." I gently croak, rolling on my side that puts my back towards him. I hear him breathe heavily and then the door opening and closing. _How could I be so stupid?_

 **...**

The next two days go by insufferably slow. The morning after that foolish thing I did, Dwight and I have been existing around each other like two strangers sharing too confining a space. It's made me feel drained, even though I'm sleeping and my shoulders ache from all the tension. Every time I see Negan around the factory, I make myself scarce to avoid his biting tone, as well as his confidence that the baby isn't Dwight's.

This morning, in the showers, I find Vivian washing her vibrant red hair. There's an available stall next to hers, so I count to five before mustering up the balls to get into it. She doesn't really notice me at first. She appears to be in her early thirties and has pretty little freckles peppering most of her body. It's no secret that she sleeps with a few Savior men, for no other reason than to get her rocks off. Hey, if Simon can do it, why can't she? At least she doesn't prey on the workers.

"Hi." I softly say to her.

She gives me a quick look over. "Hi."

"Uh, I'm Nan."

"I know who you are." Vivian replies, squeezing a dollop of body wash in the palm of her hand.

"Oh, right." I clear my throat. "I, um, I don't mean to seem accusative or anything, but I had heard that you told some people that I was pregnant."

She raises her brow and glances over at me. "Yeah?"

I tilt my head back to rinse the shampoo from my hair. "How did you come by that?"

She scoffs. "Why? Is it not true?"

"It is," No use trying to lie about what she can clearly find out, if she only peaks over the stall, "but I wanted to know how you knew?"

"Reed told me." Vivian's water shuts off, but she remains in the stall to towel off.

"W-What?" I'm utterly shocked. _Reed?_

"I don't think he meant to," She informs me, wringing out her hair, "He was a little drunk and I could tell he was tense. So I eased into things, rubbed his shoulders, and it just slipped out."

"Why did you tell other people?" I huff, standing in my stall after the water turns off.

"Well, it was kind of hard to pass up," She lets out a snicker, "I mean, one of Negan's wives leaving his stable? That's never happened, except for that dead broad. Then it turns out you've got a bun in the oven? You can't write juicer crap than that!"

"That..." I wrap my towel around me in awe of her blatant confession, "That was a shitty thing to do."

"I've done worse." She laughs, exiting the showers.

After I dress, I take my things back to Dwight's room and then head straight to Reed's office. He's eating something when I enter and I quickly discover it to be a chocolate chip cookie.

"Good morning." Reed says mid- chew.

"Cookies for breakfast?" I arch a brow at the plate on his desk.

"17 brought them to me this morning as thanks for giving her her daily points yesterday."

"Why would she thank you for that?"

"Because Lorraine refused to after 17 accidentally dropped a few loaves of bread in the fire. Said it was a waste of resources." Reed picks up his coffee mug and drinks from it.

"That was nice." I sit down.

"Yeah, well, Lorraine's an old hag who takes her bad days out on the workers. I'm sure you know."

I do, but not personally. Lorraine, the overseer of the baking station, did tend to take things out on the workers whenever she was in a bad mood, but I managed to slide under the radar with her. Come to think of it, I use to live under the radar up until a few months ago. I kind of wish I could go back.

"Um, can I ask you something?"

"I guess." Reed bites into another cookie.

"Did you tell Vivian that I was pregnant?"

He nearly chokes. "What?" He coughs, reaching for his coffee.

"Pretty much everyone knows I'm pregnant and I only told a handful of people." I state, folding my arms.

I knew right away to rule out Laura, Hal, and Dwight as the culprits, since they all knew before everyone else for a few days and no one knew a thing. I believed Negan when he said he didn't contribute to gossip and Harlan wanted me to keep it on the down low for a while, so I know he didn't tell anyone either. I guess I didn't connect the dots to Reed, because he's typically so removed or indifferent about other people's personal lives.

Reed gives me an awfully apologetic look on his face. "Uh, yeah, I did."

"Are you aware that-"

"That she told everyone? Yes, I'm aware." He inspects his hands, slightly ashamed.

I can feel my cheeks heat up. "Is that why you let me go early the other day? You felt bad for telling some random woman my private business?"

"Look, Nan, I-"

"Everyone knows, because of you, and people aren't kind around here." I snap, composedly.

He sighs, nodding down at his coffee mug. "I know and I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are."

"I am, Nan," Reed scoffs, "I got drunk and I don't normally...mess around with Vivian, but...look, I didn't realize I told her, okay? Not until the next day."

I breathe through my nose, standing, and taking my clipboard. "Well...my laundry's out on the line now and neither you, or I can get it down."

"What you want me to say?" Reed shrugs.

"There's nothing else you can say," I pick up the plate of cookies, "But I'm taking these." I exit out of the office to go do my job.

I put my clipboard under my arm, take up a cookie, and bite into it. I nearly melt at the sensational taste of this simple cookie. I can't remember the last time I had sweets. When I was a wife, I had access, but never partook because the apparent morning sickness, or because I'd practically eat myself comatose at mealtime. I polish off all six cookies on the plate and then leave the plate on a random surface in the factory, while I make rounds.

I enter the mechanic's yard and don't see Marisol. I walk over to Cooper to get an assessment of what the projected estimate of use of resources is today. "Where's Marisol?"

"Who?" Cooper wipes his hand with a rag.

I roll my eyes. "51?"

"Oh, her," Cooper nods, "I excused her for twenty minutes, so she can get some antacid, or something."

"How come?"

"She threw up over there," He points to a spot that looks freshly mopped, "I'll dock her for the missed time." Cooper pulls out a little index card and pencil from his back pocket and begins writing. He then hands me the card, where a sloppy " - 15 pts, Worker 51" is chicken scratched.

"That's a lot of points for missing a few minutes." I claim with a scoff. Cooper just walks off without explanation.

I find Marisol in her quarter, digging in her laundry basket. I step inside and she notices me. "Hi."

"Hey, Cooper said you were throwing up."

"Yeah," She stands up, "I can't find my antacid tablets. I swear I had some still."

"I'll go get you some," I offer, "I... have some in my room."

"I don't want to trouble you." Marisol glances down at my stomach.

"It's fine, really," I clear my throat to avert her attention back to me, "I don't mind."

"Okay, thanks." She smiles sheepishly. "Uh, hey. Can I ask you something?"

"If it were Negan's, I wouldn't have left him." I say without needing to hear the direct question.

She nods and looks a little abashed. "You left him, huh?"

"I'm sure a lot of people are speculating differently."

"Oh, yeah," Marisol shyly chuckles, "I just thought that maybe you, um..."

"That I got pregnant and Negan told me I had to leave?"

Her face tells me that that's exactly what she thought. That we were in the same boat. "Yeah, 'cause he doesn't seem like the paternal type."

I smile and snicker lightly. "Yeah, well...it's not his."

"It's Dwight's?"

"Yeah." I nod.

"Guess that's why you're staying with him." She sticks her hands in the pockets of her pants.

I almost want to ask how she knew that, but I refrain, after concluding that it's likely circumventing the factory like everything else. "Yeah."

"You seem a little troubled."

I look up from the ground. "Do I?"

Marisol heads out of the quarter and I follow her back towards the mechanic's yard. "A little bit. Is anything the matter?"

"Yeah..."I crumple up the card Cooper gave me in my hand, "It's just that I..."

"You what?"

I size her up and tiredly sigh, "The night I told him, he said that I should move in with him and I did."

"Right after you... left Negan?"

"Yes and I never imagined he would do that. I thought I would be staying with my friend, but he wanted me to stay with him and I..."

Marisol huffs, "You did exactly what you told me not to do."

I turn my head toward her sour expression. "No. Dwight's not like Simon, or- or Negan. He's...different."

"Whatever you say."

"He is."

"Not from where I stand, or any other worker for that matter." She retorts and I don't know what to say back. "So, what? You're, like, unhappy or something?"

"I think so."

"Maybe you should've waited."

"...Yeah."

"Don't beat yourself up, or whatever," She pats my shoulder blade, "You're pregnant with his baby, you wanted him to accept you, and when he did; you leapt without looking down."

"A leap of faith, you mean?" I stop right before we get to the mouth of the garage.

"No, not really, but kind of. More like a leap of desperation to keep him close."

"Oh." I know what she means.

"You were scared that if you turned down his offer, he wouldn't make it again. And so you did and you didn't wonder if it was the right thing to do."

"Yeah," I mouth to myself.

She turns to me. "I didn't mean to tear into you."

"No, you didn't. I'm fine."

"I'm just thinking about what you said to me. I'm trying to return the favor."

I smile. "Thanks. I'll go get the antacid and bring 'em back to you."

I toss the card that would dock Marisol's points in a garbage can as I pass it. I'm not letting her work all day to earn only five points. And I defy Reed to say anything to me, if he should find out. _Oof!_

"My apologies, ma'am." Eugene stands above me, extending his hand out. I'm reluctant, but I ultimately take his hand and let him help me up. "I didn't see you as I was roundin' the corner."

"It's okay," I brush the pain and dust off my butt, "I wasn't paying attention, either. And don't call me ma'am, I'm not married to Negan anymore."

He awkwardly picks my clipboard up off the ground and hands it to me with a pickle in one hand. "I knew that. I was merely being polite, excuse me."

"Oh, well, thanks." I look at him as he stands in my way without moving. _Move._

Eugene evidently gets the hint. "Well, I best be going now, but before I do, I'd like to extend my congratulations."

I sigh, looking off. "Thanks."

 **...**

I lied when I said I had antacids in Dwight's room, but I didn't want Marisol to object to me going to the infirmary to get her a few. So, I leave the infirmary with a handful and head back down to the yard. My stomach's starting to feel queasy as I pass the library, but I refuse to take one of the antacids I got for Marisol, so I just keep trying to fight it down. Ugh, I probably shouldn't have ate those cookies out of spite.

The acidic taste of upcoming upchuck signals that I'm gonna loose this battle and soon. I get to the hall with the stairwell, so I hustle to get to the end. However, the faster I move, the quicker the vomit rises up. I stop by the door right before the stairs and put my hand out against the wall. I gag a few times without anything coming up, but I know it's on the way. That's when I notice the door I'm leaning on is Vivian's. _Don't you dare._

I open the door and find it empty, but not for long, because I hurl onto the floor. Chocolate chip cookies, as well as the oatmeal and toast I had this morning are expelled on Vivian's floor within a few good heaves. I back out of the room and close the door with only a shred of shame for doing something so gross and immature, but I was going to puke either way and she was such a bitch to me. _I've done worse things._

 **...**

I sit in the armchair, waiting for Dwight to get in later on that night. My hands are clasped together as I practice deep breathing to gain some courage. I've thought about this pretty consistently the last few days and I know it's the actual right thing.

Dwight finally comes in around seven. "Hey."

"Hi." I smile glumly.

"Did you eat?"

"No, but don't worry about it."

His brows furrow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I stand and go over to my packed trunk, "But I'm going to go stay with Laura."

You could hear a pin drop in the room. "What? Why?"

"Because right now, it's for the best." I answer softly, but surely.

Dwight opens his mouth to speak, but doesn't right away. His hand touches the back of his head, while he licks the his lip in thought.. "Is this because of the other night?"

"No," I shake my head with a little assuring smile, "No, it has nothing to do with that. I just think it's best that we don't do this right now."

"Don't do what?"

"This." My finger circles the room. "We shouldn't have done this so soon, Dwight."

"Nan, I said it's-"

"Fine?" I raise my brow. "Okay? Alright? No. We are not fine. We're not alright and this living situation is not okay."

"Why not?" Dwight's gaze almost appears to be of a imploring nature.

"Because..." I exhale heavily, touching my stomach, " because you kicked me out the last time and I married Negan the next day!" My face flinches at his guilty expression. "Dwight, we can't just pretend like none of that happened and that there isn't this thing between us because of it that makes the two of us living together unbearable."

"I'm not bothered by it," Dwight hoarsely asserts, "I wouldn't have asked you, if I didn't want you to stay with me."

"Because it's the right thing to do?"

"Yeah, because you're pregnant and I want to..." He sighs as he can't seem to find the words.

"I understand that and I really do appreciate it, but I don't want that to be the only reason why I'm here." I candidly reply.

Dwight's troubled eyes look off when I make eye contact. "What other reason do you want?"

"I want be to here, because you sincerely want me to be here. I want to know that I'm here because you want me, with a baby, or as I stand alone, to be here with you. And most importantly, I want to want to be here with you." I can feel tears begin to well up, but I don't feel upset, or sad.

"You don't want to be here?"

"Oh, I do." I smile with watery eyes. "I really do, but not as an obligation. It's too stressful. We rushed into it and we aren't ready. And, to be honest, I don't think we were ready the first time, either. But right now, we have a lot to work through."

"So," He holds a hand over his eyes, "You'll move back in when some time passes?"

"I...I don't know, " I answer him earnestly, "I don't know what time will tell, but I can only focus on the present and what's best for the baby."

His hand runs down his face and he forlornly looks at the bump. "Okay, if that's what you want." He nods.

"Thank you." I breathe off the weight on my shoulders.

"You need help with your trunk?" He asks, calmly.

I look down at it. "Yes. Please."

We both go down the hall to where Laura lives in mutual silence that doesn't feel heavy like it sometimes does. Rather, it almost feels like the old silence that could pass between us seamlessly. At least for me, anyway. I wipe the tears off my cheeks with a realization that these aren't tears of anguish, but of pride.

Dwight lowers the trunk right outside Laura's door and knocks. A moment later, she answers and eyes the both of us with bland bewilderment. I move more into sight. "I, um, I was wondering if I could stay with you awhile. Sorry if it's short notice."

"No, it's cool," She gives me a small grin, "Come on in."

Dwight reaches down and brings the trunk in, placing it down where Laura points. They don't really make eye contact, which I guess is fair, since this is a little awkward and sudden. I follow Dwight out into the hall and he turns to me.

"If you need anything..."He looks over his shoulder.

"I'll come find you." I grin.

"Yeah," He nods, reaching for his cigarettes in his back pocket, "Um...can I come see you?" My eyes examine his, before he looks down at his pack. "To see how things are?"

"Of course," I tuck a strand behind my ear, "This coming Tuesday, I'm going to see Harlan around ten o'clock for my first check up...if you want to show up, you can."

"Yeah, maybe." Dwight nods again, peering up at me. "Goodnight, Nan."

"Goodnight."

I watch him go down the hall towards his room. As he turns the corner, Dwight looks back before disappearing from sight. I linger for a while, listening to the very faint steps become fainter. I'm melancholy, but not regretful of this because I know it's the best thing for all of us.

A clinking noise, like two cups being held by two adjacent fingers makes me glance back into the room where Laura's pouring some iced tea from a plastic pitcher into two mugs. So, I go inside and close the door.

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoyed this week's chapter!**

 **And thanks again for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! I really enjoyed laughing over all the hilarious things y'all had to say lol! Y' all are great!**


	32. Disappointed

_It's not safe here anymore. A league more of rotters came this morning and this time, they won. There's too many of them and not enough of us or ammunition to wipe them out like last time. Everyone's scrambling to get to the cars with as much as they can carry, while I struggle with leaving Charlie's lifeless body lying under an autumn plaid tablecloth on the ground, where the dead can reach him. I need to dig his grave, but Nate and Katherine keep telling me that we have to leave, because only not are the biters invading, but a fire's broke out in one of the cabins and has spread to ours and another._

 _All the yelling, and the growling, and the smoke whirl around as a combined uproar and so I cover my ears to try to block it all out and think for a second. I shut my eyes and crouch down, as tears drip off my cheeks. And in a sharp instant; all goes quiet. I open my eyes and find myself sitting on the ground with my legs dangling down into a well dug grave. I'm confused; where's all the chaos? Everyone, dead and alive, is gone and I can't smell smoke._

 _"It's peaceful."_

 _I look to the side of me where he's suddenly appeared, alive and smiling. His feet are also hanging into the grave. I look out to the serene woods, lit by the sun peeking through the trees and not a worry in sight._

 _"It is kind of nice." I say, more confused now than before._

 _"Yeah." Charlie takes my hand in his and kisses it. I notice his other arm is still missing, but what remains doesn't look infected._

 _"Charlie?" I glance around, a little disoriented and anxious. "Is this real?"_

 _"I don't know," He looks at me with a smile, "But I'm okay."_

 _I furrow my brows at his statement and that's when I start to hear a very faint whistling in the background. "What?"_

 _He leans over and kisses my forehead. "I just thought you should know."_

 **...**

I open my eyes and look about the room from where I lay on Laura's bed. Laura shifts to a sitting position and rolls back her shoulders to work out any stiffness, before yawning.

"Good morning." I yawn, rubbing my eye and sitting up.

"Morning." She replies with another yawn. "Want some coffee?"

"Yes, please."

Laura gets up and walks over to her coffee maker and turns it on. "I'm gonna make an omelet, do you want one?"

"Sure, but let me make it." I stand up in my leggings and shirt that I slept in.

She looks over her shoulder. "Are you sure?"

I stifle an eye roll. "Being pregnant doesn't make me incapable of functioning," I get up and walk over to her camping stove, "Plus, I don't want to put you out."

"Okay." She shrugs, getting out the eggs, onions, and mushrooms.

"Thanks again for letting me staying with you."

"Things didn't work out, huh?"

I crack an egg on the side of a bowl she gives me. "Um, not exactly," I murmur, "It wasn't the right time for me to move in. Like you and Hal said."

Laura wiggles her nose a bit at what I guess to be the mentioning of Hal. "Yeah, well, you can't rush things."

"No." I softly agree.

The two of us cook together in near silence, Laura cutting up the vegetables, while I do the rest. Laura seems a little out of character, but I don't know if I should ask. We have breakfast in the same quietude and I search my brain for something to say.

"So," I use the side of my fork to cut off a piece of my omelet, "Is there anything I should know about staying with you? Like rules, or conditions?"

Laura looks over at me and then down for a moment's thought. "Mmm...I don't think so. I mean, I guess clean up after yourself and if you have a gentle caller, I'd prefer you go back to their room instead of here."

I demurely snicker at her sarcasm, but she doesn't which makes me sort of worry. "Well, I don't think anyone's gonna be pitching woo to me anytime soon."

"I meant Dwight." She scoffs, a little humored.

"I know," I can feel my cheeks begin to flush, "It won't be a problem."

Laura sucks on her bottom lip as she peeks over at me. "Okay." She mouths, before finishing her breakfast. "Well, I gotta go on a run today, so I won't see you until tonight, probably."

"Alright, see ya then."

"See ya." She puts her jacket on and then heads out the door.

 **...**

I decide to take a shower before going to work, so I gather up my stuff and head to the bathroom. When I pass Dwight's room, I'm almost tempted to knock on it and check on him, but I think better of it as I tread by. _He's a big boy; he doesn't need someone checking up on him._ Dwight was a little upset by my leaving last night, but I'm grateful that he didn't try to argue with me. Or try to coax me into staying and then trash my stuff like Negan.

Despite that weird dream, I woke up feeling fairly confident today. Unlike last time I left Dwight's and slept at Laura's, I don't feel like a hapless hermit crab without a shell. Instead, I feel more certain that I did the right thing and have no regrets. Well...I do regret trying to kiss him, but it's not going to haunt me like it normally would.

I enter the steamy bathroom filled with morning talk that's both easygoing and strained from sleepiness. All the stalls are currently taken, so after brushing my teeth, I sit on the bench with my towel and supplies in my lap. I don't have to wait for very long, because after about four minutes, the water shuts off in one stall and a Savior woman yanks her towel off the stall door. I unlace my shoes and tug them both off, before I stand to take off my clothes.

"Hey, you!" The entire room turns their heads towards Vivian's fierce voice. She marches straight over to me, but I don't falter in anyway.

"What-" _Crack!_ My head whips to the side with how hard the livid redhead smacks me across my face. I touch a hand to my radiant, stinging cheek, as I turn my head to look her in the eye.

"You were in my room weren't you, you fucking bitch!" She sears at me with scalding eyes.

I drop my hand and shift my jaw to the side to work out the ache. "I-"

"What's going on?" Rachel comes over out of nowhere and crosses her arms at Vivian.

Vivian arches a brow at her, putting one hand on her hip and pointing a severe finger at me. "This bitch went into my room yesterday and threw up on the floor!"

Rachel looks over at me with a look of grossed out confusion, and then glances back at Vivian. "How do you know it was her?"

"Because I know she-"

"It was me." I interject with a calm plainness in my tone. I look to Vivian. "I had morning sickness as I was passing your room and so, I opened the door and got sick."

"Why?!" She yells at me.

I furrow my brows. "I think you know exactly the reason why I did it."

Vivian scoffs, gliding her tongue along the bottom lip. "So, because of our little chat yesterday morning, you fucking puked in my room?"

"I guess it was kind of hard to pass up." I retort and she rears back to slap me again.

"Hey, no!" Rachel shoves Vivian a little and points her finger at her. "You're really gonna hit a pregnant woman?"

"I had to clean her vomit off my floor!" Vivian shouts with a fury.

"And I have to live with every fucking person in this place knowing about my personal business because of you!" I snap back with just as much might.

She snorts in disbelief. "Well, if you weren't such a social climbing whore, maybe-"

"That's enough!" Rachel shouts.

All eyes are on me now, but all I focus on is Vivian's. "We both did awful things to each other, so why don't we call it square?"

Rachel puts a hand on her shoulder and nudges her back some more. "Think about the consequences, Viv."

Both Vivian and I look at her curiously, but we apparently come to the same understanding simultaneously. Vivian gives me a harsh up and down with her gaze. "Stay away from me, understand?"

"Yeah, and you do the same." I assert with no indication of cowering at her threat. Vivian's eyes scan the room, before she huffs and storms out of the room.

After she's gone, everyone lingers a bit before getting back to their morning routines. I look at Rachel who's staring at me with gentle, but firm eyes. I open my mouth to say thank you, but she doesn't give me the chance.

"Just consider us even." She mutters as she heads to the sink where her toothbrush and toothpaste tube are.

I pull my shirt over my head and resume undressing for my shower. Once my clothes are put in a neat pile on the bench, I pad over to the available stall and don't pay mind to the two women on either side of me. Nancy starts the water and I shut my eyes as it cascades over me.

 **...**

Reed's head is lying on his desk when I enter his office after my shower. His arms are crossed under his head in a way that reminds me when a teacher tells a kid to put their head down on their desk when the kid's misbehaved.

I walk over to the empty chair and quietly have a seat. "Need a little hair of the dog that bit cha?" I bleakly ask.

He lifts his head with red-rimmed eyes and a morose, pale complexion. Usually, Reed's a fairly handsome guy, but this morning he looks like death warmed over.

"I'm not hungover." He claims with a scratchy voice.

"Then why the long face?" I question with no concern in my inquiry, because I'm still pretty sore at him.

"Didn't sleep too good last night." He sits back in his chair.

I huff. "Were you that racked with guilt?"

"No," Reed scoffs back at me, "You might be carrying the boss's kid, but not everything revolves around you."

"It's not-"

"I don't fucking care about the details, Nan. I've got problems of my own."

"Vivian?"

"What did I just fucking say?" Reed raises his brows. "And what about Vivian?"

"Nothing."

"Her and I aren't a thing, just because I fucked her the other night."

I scoff at his crass words and roll my eyes. "Whatever, can I have my work?"

"Be my fucking guest." He rudely slides my clipboard over to me, nearly causing it to fall off the desk.

Reed and I only reconvene when we have to share information, but for the most part, we remain separate from each other for the day. Since there's two of us now working the books, I think we both have a lot of time to just hang in one spot or another with the premise of keeping a watch on the workings of the community. I plan on taking my time out front when I go to jot down the info on the sign in sheet that all the guards have to clock when they start each shift for accountability reasons.

Solara greets me kindly when I make it there and I listen to her prattle on about some book where a girl discovers her grandmother's a queen and she has to learn to be a princess. "You ever read that one?"

"No, but I think I saw the movie." I smile, sort of missing the small amount of time I spent out here with her. "How's..." I motion over to Yancy, who's smoking casually, "it going with your new co- guard?"

Solara looks over at him to make sure he's not paying any attention. "I wasn't too sure about Yancy taking your spot, at first, because he's kind of grouchy. But I guess once he gets on a normal sleep cycle, he's alright." She twists her mouth in a smirk. "If I was into dudes..."

I chuckle with a closed smile. "Yeah..."

Yancy looks our way and his eyes rest on mine. "How's it goin?"

I blush and look down like a chastened schoolgirl. "Fine."

"That's good." He sounds sincere, like he doesn't have something perverted, or jerkish to say next. Smokes dreamily rolls from his nose as he exhales. He flicks his cigarette on the ground. "Sorry about the smoke."

"It's okay," I murmur, "The wind was blowing it the other way."

The guards that relieve Solara and Yancy are heading towards us and so Yancy signs out and hands the clipboard that hangs from the post by the gates to Solara. He smirks a little, before removing the rifle around his body and handing it to the other guy. "Well, I'll see ya around."

"Okay." I utter, watching him walk off. Yancy can be a hard- nosed asshole for the most part, but by God, is he smoldering hot. He's the epitome of rugged good looks and if I weren't pregnant, or hung up on someone else at the moment, I'd serve myself on a silver platter to him. _You're such a slut._

"I'm going to the library," Solara innocently interrupts my lighthearted cackle at myself, "Wanna come?"

"Oh, uh, sure." I walk with her to the entrance. As we climb the steps, the door opens and, of course, Dwight comes through and makes me feel ashamed about thinking about Yancy.

We make eye contact and Solara stops at the door when she sees that I've halted. Dwight lowers the hand with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. "Hi."

"Hey," I look over at Solara and motion for her to go on without me, "How are you?"

"Fine. You?" He leans against the yellow railing.

"Same," I report with a dull smile, "Um, so...you aren't mad about last night, right?"

Dwight faintly shakes his heads no. "Nope. You're an adult, you can make your own choices."

"Okay."

"Where you going with Solara?" He casually asks, looking down at the cigarette he hasn't lit yet.

"The library." I answer, politely. "I should probably go, so I don't keep her waiting and so you can smoke."

Dwight glances up at me, then back at the cigarette, and then back up at me, exhaling. "See ya."

"Bye."

Solara waited for me inside, so as soon as I enter the building, we walk to the fourth floor to the library. I like Solara; she doesn't ask me about any of the shit that's gone on in my life these past two months, or about my pregnancy. She just goes on about books and characters and I can't find a thing wrong with that. When we get to the library, Lillian's at her desk, slightly rocking in her chair and with a knitted purple quilt wrapped around her.

"Cold?" Solara asks her gently, apparently aware of her illness, too.

Lillian looks over at her with an arid set of eyes. She looks like hell. "Back again like clockwork."

Solara gives her a meek grin, before browsing the shelves. I haven't finished Frankenstein yet, so I only came because Solara asked me. I rest my back on the open door and peek over at Lillian's cadaverous appearance through the side of my eye.

"Ever read The Metamorphosis?" Solara turns the book in her hands over to read the back.

"Yeah, I read it my first year in college," I answer her, "I liked it."

"Man is reduced to a cockroach," Lillian says to no one in particular, "shut away into a room by those he provided for."

Solara shrugs and tucks it under her arm, taking up another book next to it. "Sounds interesting."

"You aren't looking?" Lillian asks me, which prompts me to look at her.

"I'm still reading Frankenstein." I respond with a faint, awkward smile.

She stands up and shuffles to the bookcases. "Man creates life and then abandons it," She says in utterance, "Life tries to destroy it's creator after he rejects it." Puzzled, I look to Solara who's not really paying attention to the librarian.

"Take this." Lillian hands me a book.

"First Time Mother's Guide to Pregnancy?" I read the cover and glance at her expressionless face. "Thank you."

She returns to her chair and rewraps herself in her quilt, slowly beginning to move back and forth again. Solara and I leave shortly after and we don't speak until we get to the stairs. "She's always a little cryptic, especially after a few nights in the slammer."

"Lillian?" I ask, shocked. "She was in a cell?" I never heard, or even saw anything about this.

"Yeah..." Solara's opened one of the books and begins reading it as we walk. "She'll be cool, though."

"Why was she in the cells?"

"Don't know. Oh, this is my room." She opens up a door and takes her nose out of the book. "See ya later."

"See ya." I murmur as she closes the door. I go down the hall towards the second floor with a troubled mind.

 **...**

Reed and I work in cold silence for the entire time that we do the books. Now that he's given me a pair of glasses that are conveniently perfect for my eyes, I don't even have to open my mouth to ask him if what I'm looking at is an initial, or number.

When we're all done, I offer to take the books to Negan, because I want to know why Lillian was locked up, but Reed says he's got it and heads for the stairs. My stomach's starting to rumble, so with my chance to find out about Lillian being gone for the time being, I figure I'll get something to eat.

I go to the commissary, which I don't have to wait in line for and take some pancake mix and a bag of chocolate chips. While the Savior who works in the commissary is getting me my mix and chocolate chips, I spy a jean jacket with a wool collar, so I take that as well. It might be a while until winter, but I didn't have a proper jacket last winter and I don't intend to be without this time. Not in this goddamn place.

"Want some help?"

I turn and am glad to see Hal reaching for my food. "Hey."

"Is this what's for dinner?" His brows knit at the chocolate chips and pancake mix.

"Yes." I smile, as I inspect the jacket. It's maybe a size or two bigger than what'd I normally wear, but it'll fit and, besides, I'll be the shape of a small moon when it starts to get cold.

"Are you a child?" Hal scolds, before chuckling. "You can't have chocolate chip pancakes for dinner."

"I'm an adult, thank you, and I can eat what I want," I laugh, "I'm pregnant."

"Oh, fuck off!" He laughs back. "It's a little too soon in the game to being using that card."

I cackle as I take his arm in mine as we tread to the second floor. "Laura back yet?"

"How would I know?"

"You and her are sort of...I don't know what to call it." I open the door to the stairs and Hal holds it open above me as we enter.

"We aren't anything, mate." Hal protests solemnly.

"Mind if I ask why not?"

"We had a disagreement." He answers with a flat tone.

"Oh..." I scratch my nose in thought, "so, were you two...I don't know...dating before the disagreement?"

"For someone who hates people knowing about your business, you sure like to know about others." Hal snickers a little, but is serious.

"Sorry," I look down at my jacket, "You're right, I shouldn't be so nosy." We get to his door. "Wanna have dinner with me? Like old times?"

He smiles at me and then nods. "Yeah, definitely."

Turns out Hal is a little less minimalist than I am. While his room is not completely filled with stolen treasures like some other Savior's rooms, he for sure has more than I ever did when this was my room. Pots and pans, a camping stove, teakettle, and two of each of silverware. He's also got bowls, plates, cups, etcetera and has gotten hold of a mini fridge and microwave.

"Boy, being a Savior hasn't been too much of a burden, huh?" I note sarcastically with my hands on my hips.

He clicks on the stove, while looking at me. "Not having a kettle isn't going to make the workers' conditions better, nor is it gonna make them hate my guts less."

He hands me a bowl and some water so I can start making up the batter. "How do you know the workers hate you?"

"They hate Saviors, I'm a Savior, so they hate me," Hal watches as I stir around in the bowl, "Not as much as you, though." He smirks.

"Everyone loves to hate a whore." I wink, whisking chocolate chips into the bowl.

"Stop calling yourself that!" He rolls his eye at me. "You're not a whore."

"I was only joking!" I start to laugh, but don't when I see he's not. "I've been called a whore _and_ a slut since high school, Hal, and I didn't even have sex until college."

"So what? You've been hearing it for so long, you believe it?" Hal pours some batter into the pan on the stove.

"No." I have a seat on his chair that looks like a less posh version of the one's in Negan's room. "It's just...sometimes I feel like if I call myself those names, it'll take the fun away from those who say it to hurt me."

"Does it?" He looks over his shoulder at me.

"I don't know," I smile, tucking my hands into my lap, "but I like to pretend it does."

"How many?" Hal asks, flipping a pancake with a spatula.

"Eight."

"Eight?!" He turns to me with a humored smile.

"Yeah, four for me and four for Laura whenever she gets back." I pull my shoes off, so I can put my feet up on the chair.

Hal's demeanor dampens a bit, but he nods. "Alright, then. Eight."

I rest my head in my hand, as I look him over. "So, what's the deal with you two?"

"Nan." Hal sighs, flopping a pancake on a plate.

"You know about Dwight and I...and Negan and I."

"All I know is that you screwed things up with Dwight and then married Negan for some odd reason." Hal spins around and hands me my pancakes, along with a fork and knife. "Why did you marry him?"

"Really?" I arch a brow. "You don't want to tell me about you and Laura, but you want me to tell you about my fake marriage?"

He sits down on his bed with his pancakes. "How was it a fake marriage?"

"Well, because..." I give his genuine inquiry an unbelieving smile, "come on, Hal! He's got a fucking harem, for god's sake. None of his wives, me included, are _actually_ married to him. It's just a power kick made by a horny lunatic, who likes to 'help' poor, pretty women into his bed."

Hal snickers a little as he cuts into his food. "I agree with you on the last part. It is a power thing, but..."

"But?" I say with a mouthful of delicious pancakes.

"Why was it not a real marriage? Because you didn't wear a white dress, or say vows? Because he has more than one wife?"

"Because the whole thing is so laughable. We wore lingerie and pretty dresses for him and lounged around all day, waiting for him to..." I look at Hal's suddenly uncurious face and flush, "well, you know. I mean think about how ridiculous it all sounds." I bitterly scoff. "A harem."

"So...it can't be real because it sounds ridiculous?" Hal chews his pancakes while looking at me to answer.

I cut mine up with irritable strokes. "You consider it to be real?"

"Well, he did make the announcement to the whole factory and you were living with him and the other wives, as his wife. So, yeah, I do consider it real and so does everyone. Just because you don't want it to be real, doesn't mean it wasn't."

My eyes humbly look over at him. "I wish it wasn't real," I confess to my friend, "Because then I wouldn't have to try to pick my brain for why I did it."

"Well, you came to your senses and left him. We all make mistakes. You're not the only person who regrets matrimony."

I smile plainly, before becoming somber. "He knows about the baby."

Hal continues to eat, not fazed by that knowledge. "I imagine he would."

I take a small bite of a square of pancake. "He thinks that it's his."

"You told him different, right?"

I huff as I swallow. "Yes, but he's still convinced it's his."

"What a fucking nutter." Hal shakes his head at his plate.

"If it was his, though," I finish off my dinner, "I would've stayed with him."

"Really? You'd want your kid growing up to be like him?"

"No, but I wouldn't have a choice, right? He controls everything _and_ everyone. I'd probably have no say in how our child was raised. He could even keep me from seeing it, if I wanted to leave."

Hal pats my knee. "Well, I guess it's a good thing it's not his, yeah?" He rises and takes our plates.

I put my hand on my tummy. _Could he still do that? Would he?_ "So, you and Laura?"

He groans because I haven't let that go. "She's real nice and all, but she's...um..."

"She moved too fast for you?"

"No." Hal rubs the back of his neck, a little abashed. "When you came to her's that one morning, it was only the second time we, uh...you know."

"Oh." I nod. "So, what's wrong with her?"

"Nothing's _wrong_ with her," He snickers, "After you left, she came back and I said I was proud of you for deciding to leave Negan and she got all quiet. Then, when she saw your hand, she said she couldn't believe he'd do that to you."

"Oh, god, please tell me you didn't say anything stupid?" I whine.

"No, I just asked how she could be so surprised. Negan's not feared because he's a tenderhearted lamb. Laura told me that he's a good leader. And that he's tough, but he's also why all of this is possible and that the system works, blah, blah, blah, but I think she was trying to sell it to herself rather than me." He stretches, letting out a heavy breath. "We haven't really spoken since, which is odd, because we generally see each other all day." He fills his kettle with some water. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thanks." I shake my head. "Well, I trust her."

"I'm not saying she'd tattle on me," Hal scoffs, "I'm just saying she's been here a long time and has the script down."

"She's not brainwashed, you dick!" I chuckle.

"Nah, none of 'em are." He says, soberly. "That's the fucked up thing."

"You like her, though?" I ask softly, standing up.

I see Hal fight off a smile as he watches the bluish flame under the kettle. "Yeah, she's alright." He then walks over to a little tin box, opens it, and closes it after plucking something from the inside. "Here," he drops my ring in hand, "stop breaking it."

"Thanks." I tuck it safely in my pocket.

Hal sits down in his chair with a tired sigh. "Sure thing, love."

"Well, thanks for dinner, handsome." I hug him from the side, wrapping my arms over his and briefly resting my head on his shoulder. "It's good to get to do this again."

As I release him, Hal snakes his arm around me and kisses my temple. "Agreed."

 **...**

Laura comes in around eight o'clock with an utterly exhausted expression. She kicks her boots off and tosses her bomber jacket on the coat rack she's got in a corner. I close Frankenstein and set it on a little end table.

"Hi." I mutter as I watch her agitated body language.

"Hey," She gets into her fridge and pulls out a bottle of vodka, "What'd you eat for dinner?"

"Hal and I made chocolate chip pancakes," I point over to her microwave, "We made you a few, too."

She opens the door to the microwave and takes out the plate. "Awesome."

"How was your day?" I'm starting to feel like a housewife.

"Long, but finally over." Laura brings the pancakes and the bottle over to the bed, where she sits criss- cross.

"Vodka and pancakes," I snicker at her as she takes a swig from the bottle, "dinner of champions."

"You know it." She wiggles her nose, before she folds a pancake like a taco and takes a bite. _She's upset._

"Where'd you go?"

"Hm?" She asks, while chewing.

"Where'd you go to pick up?" I clarify.

Laura looks down at her plate. "We weren't doing a pick up. We went out to an outpost to deliver some shit they needed."

"Oh," I pick at my thumb, "Was it the one Simon lives at?"

She takes a drink from her vodka. "Yeah," She nods, "You know he knocked up a worker?"

"Yeah, I know her." I claim.

"She's gonna keep it?" Laura rubs a hand under her nose, before having another bite of her pancake.

"Yeah, she is,"

"He know?"

"Yeah, he wasn't...interested." I observe her dismissive scoff and can tell she's bothered.

"What an asshole." She swallows and then gets up. She carries her dinner and the bottle over to the sink. Laura takes a good swig of the vodka, before sticking it back into the fridge. She then tosses the pancakes into the trash. "Thanks for saving me some, but I'm not really all that hungry."

"Okay." I stand up and go to the bed, stepping over to my side.

Laura dresses down and then lies down with a heavy sigh. I stare at the ceiling without a clue of what I should say, if I should say anything at all. So, I close my eyes.

 **...**

The rest of the week goes by fairly well, aside from Laura's moodiness that I don't know how to approach. I know something's bugging her, but Laura, like Marisol, isn't too keen on venting with gal pals. Marisol only opened up, because she needed my help. Laura doesn't need a thing from me, so I don't know how to get her to communicate with me.

I finished Frankenstein and got right to reading that pregnancy book that Lillian recommended, taking copious notes on things I think Marisol should know, too. Tomorrow, I go for my check up with Harlan and it's a good thing, too, because I'm low on those awfully thick vitamins.

Reed's attitude has simmered down by now, since I think he's realized he doesn't have a reason to be angry with me. We finish the books early, around four thirty today, which is pretty fast.

"Negan wants you to take the books up to him." Reed tells me as we exit his office.

"Why?"

"Because that's what Negan wants," He locks the door, "Is there a problem?"

 _Yes and you know there is._ "No." I grab the book and turn on my heel to walk towards the stairwell.

On my way to the top, I'm a little affronted by a sight. Dwight and Arat are walking my way together, smiling, both smiling. Arat says something I can't make out and Dwight chuckles a little at whatever it is. I dig at my thumb and remind myself that this can't upset me, because, well, it wouldn't be right. When Dwight broke things off with me, I married Negan the next day and had sex with him on that same day. And then many times afterwards, so it'd be pretty unfair of me to secretly wish Dwight won't have sex with another woman. Wouldn't it?

Dwight looks my way and his smile lessens, but not in a necessarily bad way. He says something to Arat and she nods, before going off in a stray direction. "Hey."

"Hey." I greet back to him with a little too much ardor. _Damn it._

"Are you busy?" He asks as he turns and follows me toward the stairs.

"I have to take the books to Negan," I answer, honestly, "Why?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to...um, have dinner with me later."

My heart leaps, but I keep my cool. "Oh, yeah, sure." I have to stifle back a smile. "When?"

"Seven?"

"Okay, sounds good."

We stop right at his door. Dwight looks down at my middle. "Alright, well I'll see you then."

"Yeah." I nod and he goes inside.

 **...**

I take my sweet time getting to the top. One, because I'm dreading having to sit across from Negan while he looks things over and two, because it's exhausting to go through all the hallways and stairwells, even if you're not pregnant. This will also be the first time I've seen any of the wives since I left. I open the door to the top and wander down the hall to Negan's open room.

"Nan!" I turn my head at the sound of Tonya's soft voice. Her and the other wives stand up and approach the doorway of the drawing room. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing pretty well," I smile kindly at her, "How about all of you?"

"Good," or "Fine" is what they all answer with in near sync.

"How's the hand?" Hazel asks, looking down at it.

I hold it up. "I got the stitches out yesterday, but the finger's gonna take another couple weeks to heal."

"It'll heal properly though, right?" Tonya worries, inspecting it.

"Uh, I guess," I'm a little perplexed, "What do you mean by properly?"

"I mean that it'll be able to function properly after it's all better?"

"Oh," I hadn't thought about it before, "I think so."

"Nan!" Negan calls out from his open door, evidently hearing my voice.

I look at the girls, before walking down a ways to his room. It feels like Deja vu; him calling me to his room and me inwardly groaning, but obliging. Maybe because it's only been a week since I left. I walk in to find him sprawled out on the sofa with a glass of what I presume to be scotch, or bourbon resting on his stomach with his hand to keep it steady.

I knock on the open door. "I'm here."

He turns his head and smiles. "Yes, you are." He sits upwith a groan. "And you brought me the books."

"Well, yeah," I say matter of factly, "Reed said you wanted me to."

Negan smiles a little wider and takes the book from me. "Sit down." He pats the space next to him on the sofa. "I'm not asking."

I walk around the other way and sit on the sofa, but not directly next to him. But Negan scoots over and puts an arm around me. "We got the books done early today." I gently remove his arm.

"I know. You're really trying to hustle, huh?" He rests his hand dangerously close to my thigh. "Don't want me to be right about you not being Savior material?"

"No," I cross my leg over the other, "I'm just good at my job."

"Well, being a bookkeeper doesn't mean shit about whether or not you're cut out." Negan chuckles as he puts his boot on his knee and opens the book.

"What about Reed?"

"Reed's a good man, who's proven time and time again that he's a loyal soldier, so his performance isn't fuckin' being called into question."

I bite my lip irritably. "Can I wait in the drawing room while you look over the books?"

Negan glances over at me and smiles. "Miss the girls?"

"I'd like to say hi." I admit.

"You already did," He replies, "that's how I knew you were here."

"Well, I'd like to ask Amber about her mom." My eyes don't falter when his express displeasure. "I heard she spent a few nights in a cell. She seemed a little rattled the other day in the library, so I thought I'd ask Amber how's she's doing, considering she'd know better than anyone. Besides Mark."

"So, why don't you fuckin' go ask Mark?"

"I don't know him that well." I answer. "Am I not allowed to ask her?"

Negan looks at me like I'm implying something. "Hell, she's the one who told me she thought Lillian needed to be put up."

I scoff through my nose. "Really?"

"You think I go in and check on her?"

"I guess the library might not be your scene."

Negan chuckles with a throaty inhale. "Real fucking funny, Nan."

"I wasn't trying to be funny." I glance off towards the window.

"Well, you were funny anyway, so you must be a natural." He turns his head towards the books again. "She said her mom was rocking or some shit like that and said she was afraid she was gonna have another episode."

This news instantly glooms me and I look toward the door. "So, can I?"

"I don't know, can you?"

I stick my tongue in my cheek. " _May_ I go talk with the girls?"

"No, you _may_ not." He immediately shoots me down, trying not to laugh.

I can feel my cheeks start to warm. "Why not?"

"Because I said so." Negan wags his head in a 'ha ha ha' manner. "And because I didn't request you, so you can fucking go try to score a couple numbers off my wives."

"Unbelievable." I chuckle bitterly.

"Hey, you're a fairly decent looking gal and I fuckin' know first hand what you can do with your mouth, so I think I'm fuckin' right to be cautious." He grins at my rolling eyes.

"Fairly decent?" I'm not even going to acknowledge the other comment. "I thought you said I was 'fine as fuck'?"

"You're cute at best," He writes something down on the logs, "Probably why you're good in bed. You have to compensate a little."

"You are so obnoxious!" I blurt out. Negan peers back to me and gives me a look over, before smirking and returning to the books. _What?_ "What?"

"How's shit going on the prenatal front?" He asks, nonchalantly blowing off my question.

"Fine." I answer curtly, not wanting to really talk about it with him.

"Fine?" Negan mimics with a tone of annoyance. "What is it with you and always being 'fine'?"

My brows flinch. "What do you want me to say? It's been like four days since you last spoke to me; nothing drastic happened in that frame of time."

"Really?" He cocks an eyebrow, flipping a page. "Because our mutual, scar- faced friend told me that you and him aren't together."

My heart sinks. "You...you talked to him?"

"I did. Should I have asked your permission?"

I huff. "No, but I don't like you asking him shit about me."

"Well, that's too fucking bad, Anna." Negan snickers. I hate it when he calls me Anna. "I'll ask about you all I fucking want."

"Why?" I gently snap and his eyes furrow, half- confused. "Why do you want to ask about me?"

His face straightens out and he closes the book. "Because you're carrying my child, that's why."

"No, I'm not." I object calmly, "I'm carrying Dwight's child. Are you done with the books?"

Negan looks down at the book in his lap. "If it's his kid, why are you out of his place?"

"Because _I_ chose to leave because we needed some space and time to work on things." I tiredly explain.

"What the fuck does that mean? Work on things?" He scoffs.

I scoff back in a mocking way. "What do you think? We can't just pretend like we didn't end on a bad note."

"I thought you were just a past time for Dwight?" He smiles flatly. "The way you make it sound, you two were a little smitten."

I forgot that Dwight and I both separately lied to him about that. _Think fast._ "Well...a baby kind of changes things, doesn't it?"

"Ah!" Negan nods with a pleased smile spreading across his face. "So, you two aren't fucking?"

I glare at him. "That's none of your business."

"So, no then." He chuckles tauntingly. "I understand."

"Do you?" I make a face, reaching my hand for the logbook. He lifts up the book to hand to me.

"Yeah, I mean..."He snickers as he tugs the book slightly out my grasp, "It must be tough living with someone who doesn't love you and only used you to get his fucking rocks off."

I snatch the book from him, holding back the urge to tear up. "Well, I did once," His face darkens at my claim, "If I have to, I can do it again." I get up from the sofa and start for the door, praying that he won't call for me to stop as soon as I reach the door.

"Hey!"

 _I fucking knew it._ I turn to look at him over my shoulder. "Yes?"

Negan narrows his eyes at me as if in thought and then sighs. "Tell Reed to suspend 22's points for three days. He'll know why."

I squint in bewilderment, but am grateful it had nothing to do with me. I exit the room and the wives are waiting by the mouth of the drawing room when I come out.

"So?" Frankie says with a timid, inquiring smile.

"Uh, so what?" I ask, almost looking back towards Negan's room.

"Are the rumors true?" She clarifies and all the other wives look at me curiously.

"Oh," I flush, "Uh, yeah. I am."

"Wow!" Danica exclaims quietly. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you." My thanks sounds more like question.

"How exciting!" Tonya beams with the low tone that they all have for Negan reasons I'm sure.

"Yeah." I faintly smile. _Is it?_

"When are you due?" Amber sheepishly asks.

"Well, I don't know an exact date, but I think mid to late November."

"Oh my gosh, I love babies!" Hazel cups her hands together with joy. "What are you hoping for? Boy, or girl?"

I snicker under my breath at their strange elation about me, an ex-wife, being pregnant. "I-I don't know I haven't actually given it much thought."

Hazel nods, seemingly embarrassed. "Well, is..." She looks cautiously over towards Negan's open door, "is Dwight excited?"

My complexion milds and I lower my gaze. "Um, well...I think he's still taking it in. I know I am, so...um, yeah."

Frankie reaches out and touches my arm, soothingly rubbing it. "I'm happy for you," She sympathically smiles, "We all are."

"Thanks." I feign a smile, looking at the clock that reads six- fifteen. "Well, it was nice seeing you all."

 **...**

 _Six fifty-two._ Eight minutes to go. I've been standing out in the hall in front of Dwight's door since six forty- eight. I left Laura's a little early, because of my nerves, and am now too anxious to knock on his door before seven o'clock. So, I'm standing out here like a creep, waiting for the big hand to reach the pinnacle of the hour.

I didn't wear anything special, because I don't have anything special and Dwight didn't specify that I had to dress up. I'm sure I'm either going to be sitting on the edge of his bed, or in his armchair to eat, while he sits wherever's opposite. I did wash my face, though, and I also put on fresh clothes and combed my hair, so if that's an effort, then I made an effort.

A Savior walks pass me in the hall and I mouth a "hi" as he does. Seven on the nose, perfect. I approach the door and knock. Dwight opens the door almost immediately and I awkwardly smile. "Hello."

"Hey." He moves so that I can enter the room. I walk in and sit down in the armchair, trying not to fiddle with my hands, or scratch at my thumb. I then observe him closing the door and glancing over at me, before he goes to the kitchenette. "You like mustard, right?"

"Mhm." I say, looking over at him spreading yellow stuff onto a slice of bread. "Need any help?"

"No, it's okay." He answers back and shortly after, he brings over a plate and hands it to me.

"Thank you." I look at the sandwich that's a BLT with egg and the kettle chips on the plate. "Did you make the chips?"

"Uh, no, some worker just made 'em a few hours ago." Dwight says, going back over to the kitchenette. "Do you...need any syrup?"

I chuckle shyly. "No, it's alright. That's usually only in the morning."

"Oh," He nods, "Want something to drink? I have some stuff you can mix with water."

"Just water's fine." I reply. Dwight promptly hands me a glass of water and then sits down on the edge of his bed with his dinner. We eat for a few minutes without talking, probably hoping for the other to say something first. I crunch a chip in my closed mouth, chewing for thought and then swallowing. "This is good."

"Thanks."

 _Come on, Nan._ I clear my throat. "My grandpa use to make a mean sandwich."

Dwight looks at me with a sandwich half between his hands. "Oh, yeah?"

I take another bite of mine. "Mhm," I nod while chewing, "He use to make these really good cucumber sandwiches with salmon. Or roast beef with pickled onions. I love pickled onions."

"Me, too." Dwight eats a kettle chip. We're quiet for a few more moments. "He teach you how to cook?"

I smile fondly. "Him and my grandma. They loved cooking. My dad did most of the cooking at our house growing up, because of them teaching him how to cook when he was a kid. My mom was a pretty lousy cook, no matter how many cooking shows she watched."

Dwight grins. "I did a lot of the cooking, too." He looks down at his plate.

"You were the better cook?" I gently ask to draw him out.

"Yeah, not that she'd ever admit it." We both make some slight noise of humored amusement. Dwight appears to be getting a little sullen.

"Um, Charlie made pancakes every Friday night for dinner," He looks over at me, sitting up, "He'd put blueberries and chocolate chips in them and laugh every single time I dripped syrup on myself, which happened every damn time."

Dwight slightly smiles again. "Sherry didn't like pancakes, so she always made French toast."

"French toast is pretty good."

"I don't like it," He takes another bite of his sandwich, "but I ate it whenever she made it."

"You didn't want to hurt her feelings?" I innocently inquire.

He nods, twisting his mouth in thought. "Yeah, I just drowned it butter and syrup."

I lightly smirk. "Waffles are probably a second best to pancakes, in my opinion."

Dwight smiles, amused. "Yeah." He barely replies.

I glance around the room for a minute to think of what else to say. "Um, so...did you and..." I exhale, internally chiding myself for even thinking about it.

"What?"

I shake my head. "Nevermind, it's...it's none of my business."

"Oh." He licks his lips and looks off to the side. "So, how are things?"

"Good, good," My index finger rubs against my thumbnail, "The librarian gave me a book on pregnancy and the first year of a baby's life."

"Oh, that's cool." Dwight notes awkwardly. "Um, anything interesting?"

"A baby's about the size of a prune at ten weeks." I rasp, but then I think...is it technically eleven weeks now?

He nods and his eyes flicker to my stomach for a second. "I guess that's pretty interesting."

I don't know what to say at that. Was he implying that what I said was not really interesting, or what? I guess it might not be all that thrilling, but it was the first thing that came to mind. "Well, I have my doctor's appointment tomorrow," Dwight's eyes meet mine, "I swear, Harlan has to be sick of seeing me so much."

Dwight slowly rubs his hands together, as if thinking. "He likes you, though, right?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"Well, he must like you somewhat, if he was willing to mess with the logs."

I furrow my brows, perplexed. "I think he just cares about the well being of his patients."

He glances my way and nods. "Um, listen, I don't think I'm gonna be able to make it tomorrow."

I feel something drop inside of me. "Oh," My throat tightens a bit, "You're busy?"

"Yeah, I told Arat a while ago I'd help her take stock of the guns in the armory, but I forgot about it until she reminded me this afternoon."

"Oh, okay," I croak, clearly disappointed but unable to mask it.

Dwight winces a little. "Nan, I..." He sighs, "It's not like I don't want to, it's just that-"

"No, I understand," I nod, dauntingly smiling, "You're keeping your word to a prior engagement."

He licks his bottom lip. "Are you done?" He points to my half- empty plate, standing.

"Yes, thank you." I get up from the chair. "Well, thanks for dinner. I think I'm gonna call it a night."

"Oh, alright." Dwight walks towards the door. "I didn't upset you, did I?"

"No, it's fine," I dryly insist, "I can go by myself. It's just a check up."

He puts his hand on the door to stop me from opening it. "Nan," He frustratingly sighs, "I was gonna go, but I forgot about the armory."

"It's fine, D. Really." I open the door.

"Wait." He takes my elbow and I pause, looking up at him. "Will you come by and tell me about it?"

I lower my eyes to stop them from watering. "Yeah."

Dwight doesn't let go right away, but his grip isn't at all tight, so I just slip through his fingers and go.

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy this week's chapter! I know Dwight's being a pill right now, but one sandwich dinner is not gonna fix his and Nan's problems. As always, the reviews were enjoyable, loved, and appreciated!**


	33. Take Care

"How about cold spaghetti for breakfast?" Laura asks this morning, opening her fridge.

I tweak my neck side to side before I rise out of bed. "Sure, that's fine."

"Good," She claims, pulling out a bowl of spaghetti, "because I made way too much last night."

I smirk at her seemingly lighter mood. "Got any syrup?"

"Nah, why?"

I walk in my socked feet over to the door. "I'll be right back." I go down the hall with a determined pace to Dwight's room. I boldly knock on the door and then again two minutes later when he doesn't respond immediately.

Dwight creaks the door open sluggishly and his disheveled appearance makes it abundantly clear that he's hungover. He squints at me, even though the light in the hallway isn't that bright.

"Uh, hi," He says with a scratchy voice, "What are you doing here?"

I almost scoff at the alcoholic breath that greets me. "You said if I needed anything to ask you." I glance him over, unimpressed. "I need to borrow your syrup."

He looks at me, maybe a little confused by my concise manner of speaking. "Alright." He leaves me at the doorway to go to the fridge.

I wait by the door, counting the empty beer bottles, those that aren't broken, that were not laying around the room last night before I had left. The bed that still has my bedding looks tossed like maybe he slept in it. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have kept myself up last night thinking about the last five minutes of dinner. I wish there wasn't this gap between us, but I get that Dwight is a bit cautious of me right now, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me that he backed out of going to the doctor's appointment. _You shouldn't have let yourself get disappointed._

"Here."

My eyes blink back to him as he stands in front of me, offering the jar of syrup. "Thanks."

"Yep." He nods, wincing a little because of the hangover I'm assuming.

I start back toward Laura's room with the cold, sticky jar in my hand.

"Hey, wait a second." I turn to look at him over my shoulder. "Look, about last night, Nan...I didn't want it to end like that. I didn't want to upset you."

I glance down at the syrup with jaded eyes and nod faintly, before continuing down the hall without a word.

When I get back to Laura's, she's already eating a plate of spaghetti in her armchair. I grab the plate left for me from the counter and drizzle some syrup over the noodles. Laura scrunches her nose in disgust.

"Why?" She simply asks.

"Morning sickness." I reply twirling a fork in the pile of spaghetti. I take a bite and immediately spit it out, gagging because of the taste.

Laura lets out a lighthearted guffaw. "Oh my god, your face!"

I push the food from my plate into the garbage and then go the fridge to get some water from my jug. "That was gross."

"What was the inspiration behind that culinary excellence?" She chuckles with a mouth full of spaghetti.

"I have to put syrup on things in the morning to keep from getting sick." I explain between drinking.

"You seemed fine the last few days," Laura points out with her fork, "I mean you haven't gotten sick, have you?"

I think for a second. "I guess I haven't."

"Maybe you've gotten over it for now." She suggests.

I go over to my trunk and fish out a vitamin, popping it into my mouth. "Maybe." I take a swig of water to wash it down.

 **...**

Reed's a little late this morning getting to his office, but I don't mind. I'm just lightly pacing outside his door, staring between the clock on the wall and the busy factory floor. Davy and Gary walk by and Davy grins in a way that can make anyone's skin crawl. He starts to walk my way, but Gary nudges him off to another direction to avoid me, which I guess I could be grateful for. I don't like that half the factory thinks Negan's the father, but if it keeps creeps like Davy away from me, then so be it. I can't control what people decide to think.

"Morning." Reed says as he makes his way to the office with a coffee mug in one hand and his keys in the other. There's something else under one of his arms, but I can't tell what it is.

"Morning." I greet back, putting my hands behind my back as he unlocks the door. Reed opens the door and I file in behind him after he enters. He drops the thing that was under his arm on his desk and sits down in his chair, and I collect my clipboard off his desk. "I have a doctor's appointment at ten this morning, but I'll try to get as much done before then as possible."

"Okay, sounds good," He nods, tipping his mug back, "A truck's scheduled to come in today. If it gets here by then, just come down to the front of Sanctuary when you're done and we'll get it all sorted out."

"Alright."

"If you can't find me, just radio me or ask Arat." He adds.

I halt mid- pace to the door. "She'll be there?"

Reed swallows down some coffee. "Yeah, she usually oversees the guys that unload everything. Why?"

My breathing becomes a little unsettled, but I remain calm. "Oh, I just thought she was taking stock of the armory."

"No, she did that a few days ago," He replies, unsuspecting of my inner temper, "The armory doesn't need to be counted every day, since most people carry and the workers don't have access to the hall where it's at."

 _He lied to you._ "Oh." I tread over to the door, trying to appear normal and not on the verge of crying.

"Hey, Nan?" Reed calls behind me.

I take a deep breath and turn to face him. "Yeah?"

His face looks a little uneasy, but takes up the thing he had under his arm and extends it to me. "Here."

I timidly walk back and take it in my hand, looking it over. It's a thin blue box of...hot chocolate? I peek inside and see several white envelopes. "Um...thanks."

Reed shifts in his chair, uncomfortable. "Consider it an apology for loose lips and for being an asshole the last couple of days."

I nod, twisting my mouth to the side. "Apology accepted."

"Yeah, well...I, uh, appreciate your hard work."

"Oh." I'm stunned at this declaration, but flattered.

His face conveys the type of annoyance that makes it appear like he's forcing himself to do this. "Look, I'm not so good at this sort of shit, but I'm glad you're back to working with me, because you're not an idiot like I thought you were and it makes my life a little easier, job wise."

I smile at him. "Thank you. I like working with you."

Reed rolls his eyes and looks off to the window. "Don't read too much into it, it's just fucking hot chocolate. Not even the good shit."

I nod once more and then leave to get to work. As I close the door, I spot Dwight going up the stairs to the entrance of the factory. That son of bitch lied to me. I march myself towards the stairs to confront him. You know, if he didn't want to go, he could've just not shown up. Or better yet, he could have told me he just didn't want to come, because even if it would've upset me, at least it would have been the truth.

I get up to the open door of the factory and spy him sitting on the right side steps, smoking. The scent of the smoke that flows my way with the breeze lets me know that it's a joint. I step out into the pale warmth of the sunny morning, but right as I'm about to open my mouth to tear into him, I can't find the words. I feel like their on the tip of my tongue, but I can't spit them out.

He turns his head and shifts his body a little when he sees that it's me that made a shadow down the concrete stairs. "Hey."

I close my lips and just give a look that I hope conveys my discontent with him. I walk to the left and go down those steps.

"Nan!" He calls out, but my feet keep me straight in the direction of the front gates, where the guards wait for their shift to end.

They nod, barely acknowledging me as I take the sign in sheet from the post to record the clock- ins. I ask both of the guards if they have the time and one tells me it's "four minutes 'til nine" so I just hang out by the fences and wait for Solara and Yancy to clock in, so I can record that. One of the guards tells his partner that he's sick of hearing about Fat Joey, claiming that it's been two months since he died and that he doesn't give a shit that he's dead. I try to ignore Dwight across the yard when he looks my way, still sitting on the steps.

Yancy and Solara exit from the factory almost together a few minutes later and just in time, because these two guards have irritatingly moved on to talking about the worker that Simon got pregnant, which I didn't know anyone knew about. Solara waves at me, so I wave back and Yancy notices me because of it.

He grins handsomely at me and my cheeks redden as I smile back. "Mornin'."

"Hi." I shyly reply.

Solara and him take the rifles off the guards and sign in. "You like hot chocolate?" He points to the box under my arm.

"Oh, um," I suddenly feel embarrassed, "yeah. Reed gave it to me."

Yancy smiles brightly. "Well, you should try the one in the yellow container with the rabbit on it. That's the good shit."

"Yeah, okay." I lower my gaze when Solara gives me a strange look. _Snap out of it._ "Well, I should go. Have a nice day...both of you."

Solara nods. "Thanks."

Yancy continues to smile with a measured confidence. "You, too."

"Okay." I turn to walk off.

"You look nice today by the way."

I glance over my shoulder at him, dumbfounded. _Say something._ I just smile like a sweet idiot.

"Pretty, I mean." He clarifies, with a dimpled smirk. "You look pretty today."

"Thanks." I tread off to the entrance, trying to not appear like my usual, graceless self. When I walk up the concrete stairs, my stupid, girlish smile drops as I notice Dwight standing up. I'm both livid at him and abashed that he might have seen what transpired at the gates. I keep my head down as I go to enter the building.

"Hey." He drops the joint on the ground and steps on it.

I don't stop walking. "Hi."

"Nan, wait!" Dwight lets out a frustrated sigh, as per usual, and follows me into the factory.

"Sorry, but I'm busy right now, Dwight." I dryly claim, not wanting to face him.

"Well, can I walk with you, so we can talk?" He asks with a scoff, still trailing me.

I stop for a moment and take a deep breath. "I have to get some things done before ten, so I really can't be distracted by anything, or anyone."

He puts his hands on his hips, disgruntled. "Nan, I-"

"It's not like I don't want to talk to you, D, but I have work to do." I cut him off, knowing that any furtherance of the conversation will turn ugly. I continue towards the chicken coops.

 **...**

An hour later, I drop my clipboard and hot chocolate off in Laura's room and make my way to the fourth floor. I figure it won't take very long, since I'm only eleven weeks pregnant and Harlan will probably only take my vitals.

As I walk up the stairs, I can't drive Dwight from my mind and how pissed off I am at him. My brain keeps having this clash between wanting to understand why he did it and writing him off as a silent partner.

"We have got to stop running into each other like this." Negan's voice startles me out my thoughts and I see him coming from the opposite hallway.

I nervously glance at the infirmary door. "What are you doing?"

"Whoa," Negan chuckles, resting his shoulder against the wall on the other side of the door, "I don't like people fuckin' questioning me. Although, it is kind of hot when you get brazen."

"Are you going in there?" I motion to the door.

His eyes flicker to it for a second. "The doctor's? No, why? Are you?"

I pick at my thumb. "Yeah, but I was gonna let you go ahead of me, if you needed to see Harlan."

"How nice of you to let me go ahead of you," He snickers, "Whatcha going in for? Did ya fucking get bitch slapped again?"

"You heard about that?" I don't know why I ask when I should already know the answer.

"I fucking did," Negan gives me the up and down, "Why'd Vivian smack you?"

"Doesn't matter," I tell him, "because it's been resolved."

"What are you afraid I'm gonna wrap her knuckles with a ruler?" When I respond by not responding, he rolls his eyes with a grin. "I don't care that Vivian slapped you. In fact, I think it's a little fuckin' funny."

"That's nice." I retort, tersely.

"Well, c'mon now, Nan. You're not my wife anymore, so you don't get special protection. Even if that were the fucking case, I'm smarter than to think you did nothing to deserve it."

Well, he's right about that. I did kind of deserve it. "So, you're not going into the infirmary?"

"Nope," His eyes travel down to my middle, "What are you going in for?"

"For more vitamins." I fib, not wanting to tell him the truth for fear he might include himself in on the exam.

"Hm," He nods with a smirk, looking at Lucille in his gloved hand, "Taking care of our little sprout?"

I shift my weight, agitated. "It's not yours," I reverberate, looking up at him, "How many times do I have to say that before you believe it?"

Negan leans in until we're face to face. "How fucking long are you gonna keep up with this fucking self denial?"

"Am I the one in denial?" I ask in a whisper, just in case Harlan can hear us from inside. "Because I already told that I'm too far along for it to be yours."

"Yeah, yeah, because Dwight bent you over an armchair," He rolls his eyes and drops his smirk, "But you also fucking said you were between eight to ten weeks, which I guess now is...nine to eleven weeks, right? That being the case, I'm a little fuckin' doubtful that I'm not gonna be taking you back in, like the fuckin' bleeding heart that I am, when the baby comes out with dark hair."

"And if it's born with blonde hair?" I challenge.

Negan smirks. "Your hair's...what, like a reddish brown? And the little girl in the ring you have had lighter hair than your hair now. One might even fucking say, you were kind of a little blondie."

I make a bewildered face."So?"

"So, the baby could have light hair, but that doesn't mean its Dwight's."

I huff, flustered. "Well, dark hair is more dominant, so-"

He runs his free hand through his hair. "Let's drop all the Punnett Square bullshit. Bottom line, if the kid has darker hair; it's definitely fuckin' mine. If doesn't, it still could be mine and you fucking know it."

I feel some muscles in my mouth twitch. _He's never going to stop._ "It's not yours."

He huffs, getting irritated at my firm repetition. "If it's not mine, then why the hell did I get you a damn gift?"

I furrow my brows. "A gift?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, a gift."

"What are you-" The radio on his belt interjects and Arat's voice tells him that the truck has arrived and is pulling into the front.  
Negan smiles at me and takes the radio off the belt. "See ya later, honey." He tucks some hair behind my ear and strolls down the hall.

I take a few breaths to get a hold of myself, before knocking on the door and going inside the infirmary.

"Good morning." Harlan greets with a soft smile, handling a machine that I don't think I've ever seen before.

"Morning," I timidly grin, "What's that?"

He looks back to me. "It's the ultrasound unit I mentioned awhile ago."

"Oh...from your old community?"

"Yes, it seems that Negan had Simon get it from Hilltop and your people that went out to wherever it is that he lives, brought it back here with them."

This must be the gift Negan was just telling me about. Laura never mentioned it to me and I never saw it when I was getting my stitches out. "Oh, okay," I nod, sort of intimidated by it, "No one needed it back there, right?"

The look Harlan gives me tells me that there probably is. "Uh, no, no. It wasn't being used."

His attempt to try to make me feel better about something being taken from a community to be "given" to me doesn't make me feel good, but I'll play along. "Alright."

He scratches his brow, before turning on the machine. "Well, shall we get started?"

I hesitate, listening to the hummed breathing of the machine and then the exam table. "Mhm."

Harlan starts by washing his hands and then does what I predicted he'd do and takes my vitals. He says everything looks good on that end and smiles an assuring smile that makes me faintly reciprocate. My blood pressure's a smidge higher than last time, but I'm not really surprised.

"Alright, ready for the ultrasound?" Harlan walks over to a drawer and pulls out a tube of gel.

I swallow down a lump in my throat. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay," He wheels his chair over to the table," If I could please have you lift your shirt up a little bit and you'll have to unbutton your jeans."

I undo my jeans and roll the flaps down a bit, before lifting up my t-shirt. "Alright."

Harlan squeezes some clear, cold gel onto my stomach and then turns slightly towards the ultrasound unit. He then takes a little device in his hand and places it in the gel, moving it around my tummy. Harlan looks over at the screen as he carefully glides the device around in a searching motion.

"Alright," He says under his breath, "Let's see what we can find."

I anxiously keep my eyes on him, somewhat afraid of looking at the screen. A strange noise abruptly, but gently enters the room. I don't know whether to be worried or relaxed by the sound, so I just remain quiet until Harlan says something.

"Do you hear that?" He finally speaks with a little bit of uplift in his tone. "Nan?"

"Hm?"

He points to the screen. "The heartbeat of the baby. Do you hear it?"

I timidly side glance the machine and nod. "Oh, yeah...I hear it."

"Sounds good," He grins kindly at me, "Normal."

"Good." I rasp, nodding again.

Harlan looks back at the screen and moves the device on my stomach half a centimeter to the left. "There it is." I stare like a child at him and his gaze meets mine again. Once again, he points to the screen. "Take a look."

I slowly turn my head to the machine. I'm mesmerized by the image on the screen. "Um, is that...?"

"Yes," I can hear the smile in his voice, "That's your baby."

The little obscure shape looks cradled in this dark abyss on the screen. It's heartbeat sounds fervent like it's calling attention to itself, as if wanting me to take notice. "It's small."

"It's average sized," Harlan reports, "You'll be entering your second trimester fairly soon."

I glance momentarily at him. "Like, in two weeks?"

He meets my eyes, before pushing a button on the machine and then taking the device from my stomach shortly after. "Uh, well, I won't put a pin in exactly how far along you are, just yet. For now, I'm still saying the baby's in the that two week bracket as far as development, so maybe in two weeks, but maybe three or four."

I nod, a little comforted by that. The machine makes a weird printing sound and all of the sudden, a little square paper is produced from this slit in the front of the unit. "What's that?"

The doctor stops it from falling on the floor and hands it to me. "It's a sonogram of your baby."

I look down at the little entity in the picture and smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," He smiles, standing up and taking off his gloves, "In a few more weeks, we can try to see if we can determine the sex."

My eyes flicker over to him. "Really?"

"Yeah." He reaches down into the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of prenatal vitamins. "Do you want the whole bottle? I know you don't necessarily have a limit on what you can have like the workers."

"I don't want to take away from Marisol."

"Oh, there's a whole back part of this shelf that's nothing but prenatal vitamins," Harlan shares, "There's about sixty pills per bottle, so you'll both be okay."

I take the offered bottle. "Well, if there's enough, then I guess I'll take 'em."

Harlan then walks to the bathroom to wash his hands. "So, you're all set for now. Unless you need anything, or have any questions, I'll see you next time."

"Thanks, again." I smile meekly.

He returns the smile and nods as he dries his hands. "Take care."

I exit the infirmary and as I close the door, my spirits dip a little when I see Dwight leaning against the adjacent wall with his arms crossed. His one fist rests against his mouth and he seems to break from a possible thought when the door clicks shut.

He straightens up. "Hi."

I uncontrollably blush for reasons I'm unsure of. "What are you doing here?"

He nervously clears his throat. "I, uh, I know you were upset about me not coming, so I came."

I look briefly down the hall to my left, before sighing. "Why didn't you come inside?"

"I wasn't sure if I should," Dwight answers, "you kind of gave me the cold shoulder earlier."

I scoff and begin walking down the hall towards the stairwell. "Yeah, well I..." _Don't make things worse._ I bite my tongue and breathe, but I can't hold it in. "I am a little disappointed, to be honest with you, so yeah, I did give you the cold shoulder, but you still could've came in if you wanted to."

"Nan, I-"

I whip around to face him. "You lied to me, Dwight."

His eyebrows furrow when our eyes meet. "What?"

"What?" I smile derisively, "Don't do that." I start to walk, but he puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me back to face him.

"Don't do what?"

 _Is he kidding?_ "Don't pretend like you didn't lie to me!" My voice rises. "Arat's not taking stock of the armory. Reed told me she did that a few days ago." Dwight's face straightens out in what is clearly an indication he's been caught. "You lied to me last night."

He slowly nods and exhales. "Yeah, I did. I'm sorry."

My eyes scan him in angry disbelief. Hearing it straight from the horse's mouth really fucking sucks. "You know what? If you're only interested in helping me out, because you feel obligated to, then don't bother."

"What?"

I take a deep, strong breath. "I was willing to try and work on things, whatever the fuck that means for us, but if this is all too much for you right now, then fine. I can manage things by myself."

Dwight scoffs, trying to keep calm, but he's obviously irked. He runs a hand down his mouth. "Nan, I-"

"I get it, Dwight," I assure him with a more even tone, "You're life got derailed by me showing up, pregnant, and you thought you needed to do the 'right thing'. I don't need you're help, I'll be fine on my own."

His mouth is open, but he's speechless.

"I have to go," I wiggle my nose to keep tears back, "maybe I'll see you later. Or maybe not." I head down the hallway to go back to work. Despite wanting to cry, I don't, I just keep walking.

When I reach the second floor and get to Laura's room, I drop off my vitamins and pick my clipboard back up. As I go over to my trunk to quickly put the bottle and the sonogram inside, I hold the picture delicately between my fingers and take another look. I turn around and sit down on my trunk, as I continue to examine the little being that's nestled in my womb.

Doesn't it know who it resides in? Does it have any clue how I've hurt people I care about? How I gave myself to an awful man, who's caused so much pain and anguish to it's father? If the baby knew me, would it even want me to be it's mother? I think about what Lillian said about Frankenstein and now I'm worried that I might be a worse parent than Victor Frankenstein. Fuck, what if I'm critical and emotionally withholding like my mother? If it's true what they say about kids becoming their parents, then my baby's really in for it.

 _Stop!_ I inhale and exhale sharply. _Stop tearing yourself down._ I roll my shoulders, remembering that I wanted follow the advice I gave Marisol and stop ridiculing myself.

 _My baby._ I place a very light finger on the being in the sonogram. My chest tightens and a few tears start to form. Not the usual crybaby tears that I'm now accustomed to, but tears of joy, I think. It clicks in me like a light bulb. Until now, I've been kind of treating this pregnancy like another problem to add to the list, but actually seeing the baby as well as hearing it has opened my eyes. I'm going to be a mother and this is my baby. It doesn't know who I am as it grows inside of me, and yet; it seems so trusting of me anyway. I smile and wipe the tears from my face, as I stand up. I have to get to work.

 **...**

The day sort of flew by after I left Laura's room. I went down to the front of the factory, met Reed there, and we took inventory of what was brought in. It took four hours, but it wasn't so bad, considering I didn't have to do any of the heavy lifting. Negan, surprise, surprise, was there, too, but he basically ignored me until the ending, when he pulled me aside.

"How are things going?" He asked with a waiting smile, like he was expecting me to thank him for taking the ultrasound from Harlan's community.

Because there were others around us, I figured it would be a bad idea to give him any lip. "Everything's fine." I curtly answered and then I walked off to go collect point cards from the workers.

It's about six o'clock when Laura comes in and she's less humored than she was this morning. The truck had some eggplants, so I took one and decided to try my hand at baked eggplant, but remebering I didn't have a oven; I took a toaster oven that was a little banged up from the drive, as well.

"Here." I offer Laura a plate and she looks down at it with curiosity.

"What's this?" She inquires, taking a swig from the glass of rum she poured herself.

"Baked eggplant," I answer, "Um, I had to cook it one plate at a time, because I used a toaster oven."

She takes the plate. "Is that pasta sauce and cheese?"

"Mhm." I sit down on the bed with my plate.

Laura shrugs and uses her knife and fork to cut in, taking a small test bite. She chews with thought and then nods. "It's good."

"Thanks." I smile, pleased with myself. "I've decided to be more active."

"What, like exercise?" She says, mid-chew. "Is that recommended?"

I swallow my food. "I mean I'm gonna stop moping around and take more initiative in my life."

"Oh." She nods.

"It's..."I glance down at my plate, "It's not just about me anymore. I have to come to terms with that before the baby is born."

Laura looks glumly down at her plate when I peer back at her. "Yeah, you're surviving for two now, I guess."

I bite my lip. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." She stands up and walks over to where her bottle of rum is.

"Is it about Hal?" I ask and it causes her to look tersely at me. "I know that him and I are friends, but you can tell me. I won't say anything." Technically, I already know Hal's side of the story.

She shakes her head. "How'd your check up go?"

I peek over at my trunk. "I got a sonogram," I set my plate down on the little end table, "You wanna see?"

Laura takes a sip of her rum and nods. "Sure, let's have a look."

I cautiously hand her the sonogram and she looks it over in silence. I catch her nose twitch a little, which I've learned we have in common when we're both trying to shake off something that's bothering us. "Um, the baby's right-"

"I see it," She claims with, if I'm not mistaken, misty eyes, "Right smack dap in the middle. That's cool." She hands me back the sonogram. "Dwight's seen it?"

I look down, mildly ashamed. "No."

Laura sips her rum, observing me. "Don't you think you should show him?"

Despite not wanting to, after I chewed him out earlier, I begrudgingly nod. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, you should before he goes to bed, or whatever."

My eyes read her face and I think she purposely brought up Dwight to deflect any more questions from me. "Alright," I relent, "I'll be right back."

I tread over to the door with the sonogram in my hand and leave. I look down the other end, contemplating skipping out, but something kicks me to go the right way towards his room. I gaze down at the picture and I think of a few scenarios in my head of how this conversation will go down, and what I should say if he says this, or that.

As I approach the door, I hear a crashing sound like glass breaking against something. I lean in to listen, but when I don't hear another shattering, I knock.

"Yeah?" He calls out with an edge in his voice.

I glance down the hall with half a mind to retreat, but I sigh and quit that thought. "It's me."

"...What...what do you want?" He asks with a chagrinned scoff and I think I can safely bet my new toaster oven that he's most likely been drinking.

I put my hand on the door handle, jiggling it to find that it's unlocked. I open the door and see him slumped in his chair with a beer bottle in hand. The room reeks with the stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke that hasn't filtered out because the window's closed.

"Get out." He blandly demands.

I huff through my nose, tucking the sonogram in my back pocket and going over to the bed. "So, you're drinking dinner tonight?"

"Get out, Nan."

I step up on the bed in my socked feet and wade over to the window, pulling down the latch and opening it. I turn my head and see him staring at me. I notice the broken glass over by the closet door behind his chair. "Are you drunk, or getting there?" I look back at him with a questioning brow.

"What the fuck...what the fuck do you care?" Dwight puts his beer to his lips and takes a drink. "Go... mind your own business in Laura's room."

I scoff, shaking my head. I take the sonogram out of my pocket and walk off the bed. "Here," I extend it to him, "It's a sonogram of the baby. I thought maybe you'd like to see it."

Dwight takes it and glances down at the picture. He's quiet for few moments and I observe him. "That's the...the, um, baby?" He puts a finger to the occupied space in the sonogram.

"Yeah," I rub my arm, "That's the baby."

He continues to stare down for a little while longer, before he rubs his eye and sighs. He offers it back to me. "Thanks."

I reclaim it in my hands, looking at it. "Sure."

Dwight rests his elbow on the arm of the chair and masks his eyes with his hand. "Could you go, please?" I can the hear emotion in the hoarseness of his voice.

I nod, even though he can't see me and leave without another word.

 **...**

The next four days go by smoothly. I woke up the next morning after the doctor's appointment, feeling refreshed and ready to get my life on track. I have to grow up and take better care of myself, in order to take care of the baby. I've been making sure that I'm eating three meals a day and taking my vitamins.

I've been extensively studying the book Lillian gave me, trying to take note of everything I'll need for a baby and then considering how much of that is plausible in this world to obtain. I don't think I've focused this much on something since before the world changed, and even then, I was a huge procrastinator.

When I'm working, I keep my own, separate notes of the things we have in the commissary and in general. So far, no signs of anything that'd be for a baby, or even a child. I guess since there's no children here and no babies have been born, the Sanctuary's a little void of adolescent resources. I've thought about asking Negan if he could maybe have some of the Saviors in the outposts, or the ones here that go on runs to be on the look out, but every time the thought blooms in my head, I crush it.

I remind myself of Judith back in Alexandria and can't bring myself to purposely seek out things for my baby that would mean taking from another's baby. I know a shit ton of people here would say that taking what you want or need from others is how the world works now, but I don't think I have it in me to directly take from people. Besides, that would also mean groveling a little to Negan, which would likely involve him wanting me to admit to something that's not true and that I won't do. If I must seek help, I'll ask Dwight.

Dwight's avoided me since our last encounter. As much as I'd like to say that I'm constantly wondering about him, I haven't been. I'm trying to shift gears and I can't bothered with trying to get him to like me again. I am a little concerned about his drinking, though. At least the bed was undone the other night, so I can assume he's probably sleeping, or at the very least, laying in the bed. I think if the bed's neatly made; he's not using it.

Today, after work, I shower and then cook dinner before Laura gets home. She comes in around seven-ish, but I didn't wait to eat. She looks down in the pot on the camping stove.

"Ew, what is that?"

"Spinach soup." I tell her, before putting a spoonful in my mouth.

"I don't like spinach." She claims, going over to the fridge.

"Well, options are limited and I made what I know."

"I think I'm gonna stick with what I know," She brings over a Tupperware bowl, "which is pasta with the orange sauce."

I smile. "Want some cocoa?" I motion my head over to the hot water I boiled.

"No," She shakes her head, "It's not the good shit."

"Am I the only one who didn't know that the yellow container is the 'good shit'?" I chuckle.

"It is!" She laughs back while chewing.

"It's for milk, it's not even hot chocolate mix."

"Yeah, but if you have milk, you can just warm it up, add the mix in, and voila! Hot chocolate." She informs me with a solid smile.

"Well, I don't like warm milk and I got it as a gift." I snicker lightly.

"I can't believe Reed apologized to you."

A knock on the door has us both look over. I place my bowl down and brush my hands on my jeans, before going over to the door to answer it. I open it and am shocked to see Yancy standing out in the hall.

He smiles at me. "Hey."

"Um, hi." I open the door a little wider to reveal Laura behind me in the room.

"Hey, Laura." He puts a hand up.

"Hi." She says back, seemingly suspicious.

Yancy directs his attention and his dimples back to me. "I was, uh, just in the neighborhood and I heard you were staying here, so I wanted to see how you were."

"Fine," I tell him with pink cheeks, "I'm fine. How about you?"

"I'm good." He claims.

"Are you?" Laura sarcastically asks under her breath, so I close the door a little.

"Um, so...how are you liking the nine o'clock shift at the gates?"

Yancy smiles a little wider and looks me over. "It sure as hell fucking beats the night shift."

"Yeah, I bet." I giggle, which causes him to snicker at the shy sound. _Oh, god, why am I so embarrassing?_

"Well, I, uh, I brought you this," He pulls out a yellow cylinder from his jacket pocket, "Because it's the-"

"Good shit?"

He chuckles, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah."

I take it from him and inspect the rabbit on the label. "Thanks."

"Not a problem."

I look up at him and try to read his motives. "Well..."

The sound of footsteps coming from the left side of the hall has the two of us glance that way. _Does the universe hate me?_ It's Dwight and he's got a bandaged hand, which must mean he was at the infirmary. I look away from him and then meekly back at Yancy. "Um, thanks again."

Yancy has a cocked brow in Dwight's direction, but turns back to me. "Uh, yeah, sure thing, darlin'."

"Goodnight."

"Night." He returns and I close the door.

Laura stares curiously at me. "What the hell did he want?"

I glance down at the thing of mix. "Speaking of the good shit." I toss it to her.

She catches it and reads the label. "Why'd Yancy give you this?"

"I don't know." I shrug, moving from the door. "He saw the box of the other stuff from the other day and said I should have this."

Laura rolls her eyes and makes an annoyed snorting sound. "Fucking hell, you're pregnant with someone else's kid. What a fucking creep. "

I scratch my nose. "I think he's just being polite."

"Yancy's never polite," She pulls her boots off, "especially if he's got to go out of his way. He's interested."

I smile. "Like you said, I'm pregnant," I sit back down and pick my soup back up, "No one's looking to get into bed with me and no one certainly has a chance." I sullenly look down in my soup and then back at the closed door.

 **...**

 _"Charlie?" I look over to him as we sit with our feet hanging over into a grave. "Is this real?"_

 _He smiles at me and leans over to kiss my forehead, before bringing his arm around me. He begins to hum Chelsea Hotel No. 2 as I lay my head on him._

 _"It isn't real, is it?"_

BANG! BANG! BANG!

 _I jolt and touch my hand to his chest. "What was that?"_

 _Charlie puts his hand on mine, holding it. "I don't know, but I'm okay."_

 _"What?" I lift my head up to look up at him and I'm petrified to find him decayed._

 _"I just thought you should know."_

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I shift in bed when Laura makes a swift, annoyed movement to get up. I open my eyes a peep and see that it's too dark to be dawn, so I close them. Laura's hushed, but sharp voice sounds like she's trying to shoo someone away.

"I just...I just want..." He sighs heavily, "Could you...could you just get her, please?"

I reopen my eyes. _Dwight?_ I turn my body around to see Laura standing by the small crack of the opened door. "D, she's asleep and so is everyone else!"

"I just...I want to talk to her, Laura, so just...get her for me." His delayed speech tells me that he's, once again, drunk.

"You're drunk!" She retorts. "Talk to her to later, when you've sobered up, alright?"

"No, I need to...Nan!" He calls at a normal volume, but only normal for the daytime. "Nan!" _Oh my god._

"Be. Quiet!" Laura shushes him. I practically spring out of bed and barefoot it over to the door before he gets louder. I put my hand on the door and it startles Laura. "He's drunk and it's two a.m."

"Sorry," I whisper, utterly embarrassed, "I'll make him go."

She sighs and then shuffles back over to the bed, grumbling. I open the door a little more and him and I make eye contact.

"Um, hi." He bashfully croaks, bringing a powerful smell of whiskey my way.

"What are you doing?" I harshly snap in a low tone.

"I, um...I need to, uh, to talk to you for a minute."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Dwight," I tell him, "Can't it wait?"

Dwight shakes his head and puts his hand on the frame of the door to steady himself. "No, no...it can't. I-I have to talk to you."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

I lick my lips and glance back to Laura, who's looking at me. "I'm gonna go take him back to his room."

She nods and then lies back down, throwing the blankets over herself.

I hastily exit the room, bumping into him, and close the door as quietly as possible. I then face him and his fatigued eyes. "Let's go."

I start walking towards his room and look over my shoulder to make sure he's stumbling along behind me. He's a little wobbly, but like the last time I was in this situation, he's impressively good at walking while under the influence. Dwight doesn't seem like the kind of drunk that would pound on your door at two in the morning, but I guess whiskey can make assholes of us all.

We get to his room and I open the door, motioning for him to go in before me. He complies and I follow after him. I half expected his room to be trashed, but am somewhat glad to see that it's not. He drops himself down in his armchair and hangs his head in his hands.

I clear my throat. "You should go to bed, Dwight."

He lifts his head to look at me. "I'm not tired."

"How long has it been since you slept last?" I glance over at the T.V. that's softly playing some show I don't recognize.

"I've slept," He argues, "just...just not-"

"Not without drinking?" I raise my brow.

Dwight exhales, looking away from me. "I'm fine...and I'm not...I'm not tired."

 _Just leave._ I walk over to the T.V. and turn it off. Then I go over to the armchair and stand in front of him. "Help me get your vest off."

He snickers a little, as to why I'm not sure, but he shrugs his vest off. "Do you...do you like him?"

My eyebrows knit slightly. "Who?"

"Yancy," He gazes up at me, after I tug his shirt over his head, "You like him?"

"Oh my..." I give him a look like I can't believe what I'm hearing, "Really? You think I'm interested in anyone, right now?"

"He's, um...interested in you."

I crouch so I can untie his boots. "Yeah? Well, I'm not exactly accepting applications for a new headache at the moment. Besides, are you really questioning me, when you and Arat are such good pals?"

He furrows his brows at me in genuine confusion. "I'm not sleeping with her."

"You're doing something with her that has you spending all that time together."

"She's...like Laura," Dwight runs a hand through his hair, "I like her, but not like that."

"So...you haven't...with either of them?" In my head, I know he hasn't slept with Laura, but something else in me wants a verbal confirmation.

"No. You and...Sherry...ruined that for me."

I scowl and look at his bandaged hand. "What happened to your hand?"

"What happened...to your...your hand?" Dwight chuckles under his breath, kicking out of his boots.

"You know what happened to my hand."

"Yeah...I do know," He undoes his belt to his pants, "He broke your hand and you...you covered for him."

"I did not."

Dwight stands up to get out of his pants and I'd blush at him in his boxers, if I hadn't seen him like this before. "Yeah, you did. You...you said it was, uh, an...accident, or some bullshit excuse."

"You know, what? Just get in bed." I point to his bed, briefly stealing a glance southward.

He scoffs. "I can't sleep...'cause I can't...fucking stop thinking."

I walk to the unmade bed and peel back the blankets. "Well, if you try, I'm sure you can." I think about when I brought him back to my place and it makes me groan inwardly. "Look, I'll... I'll lay down with you for awhile, until you go to sleep."

Dwight chuckles bitterly, before shuffling over to the bed. "I don't want you to...I don't want you in my bed."

It stings, but he's drunk and I sort of already figured that. "Well, then-"

"I don't want you to...to touch me either." He gets under the covers with his back to me.

I wiggle my nose and nod. "Okay, well, goodnight." I turn to leave his room.

"Wait, don't...don't leave."

"Why not?" I tiredly spin around to face his way. "You don't want me here."

"I don't want you in my..." He sighs, "In my bed. I want you to, um...stay."

 _Go._ I fold my arms, thinking. "I don't want to stay here and listen to you chastise me until you pass out, Dwight."

"Well, too bad," He rolls onto his back and looks at me, "I have a...a lot to say to you."

I scoff. "Oh, yeah?" I stalk over to the armchair and have a seat. "Well, lay it on me."

Dwight turns back over away from me. "I lied to you about the armory..."

"I know you did. It's not news."

"I can't go with you...to the doctor's."

I stare at the back of his head. "Why not?"

"Because... because he's Carson's...um, Carson's brother." He tells me.

I suddenly recall Harlan introducing himself as Harlan Carson when I first met him and how it intrigued me. "He is?"

"Yeah..." Dwight sniffs, "I can't go with you, because...because if he knew what I...what I did, then he won't help you."

I put my foot up on the chair. "You think he won't deliver the baby?"

"Why would he do that for someone who...who got his brother killed?"

"Because he took an oath."

Dwight huffs. "Like that means shit here."

"I don't think he's that kind of person, Dwight," I think for a moment, "He's a good person." At least I think so. "And he'd be helping me, not you, so I doubt he'll stop seeing me."

"And what if you're wrong?"

"Well," I rest my chin on my knee, "as far as anyone's concerned...Carson died because he helped Daryl escape to impress Sherry." _Oh, jeez, it sounds even more ridiculous than it did the day Negan tossed Carson into the fire for it._

"Why'd you marry him?"

"I..." I sigh, wishing I had left before, "You told me to leave. That you couldn't go through that again and it made me realize that I was repeating the past. I didn't want... to hurt someone like that again."

"Because...you cheated on, um...on Charlie?"

"Yeah," I nod, picking at my thumb, "This world changes people, but I was still the same girl I was before. I thought if I married him, it'd be sort of...penance for the wrong I did to Charlie... and you. But it didn't work out."

"Because you're pregnant?" Dwight rasps.

"No. Well, yes, but I didn't know that until a week ago." I wiggle my nose again. He won't remember this in the morning. "It didn't work out, because no one deserves to be married to someone like him and because...I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I wasn't good to you."

I observe him as he lies perfectly still on his side. "You did the right thing."

"No, I didn't." He objects with a flat tone, "When... when Sherry left, I...I tried to stop thinking about her. I used you and...I wasn't nice about it."

"It's fine, I already told you that." I can feel the stickiness on my flesh from picking my thumb bloody, so I stop.

"Stop saying that!" He shouts over his shoulder. "It wasn't fine. I...I was angry at her...not you."

"Well, it is was it is, Dwight." I claim, looking at the clock. "We both made mistakes and both probably wish things could've gone differently, so there wouldn't be so much regret."

"I didn't...um, I didn't regret being with you."

I snicker acridly. "So much so that you've avoided me like the plague and don't want me to touch you." Tears creep up around my eyes.

"I...I fucked up with you, Nan." He sniffs and then all of the sudden, I see his shoulder make a jerking, trembling motion.

"Dwight?" I sit up properly and study him. _Crying?_ I've never seen him cry before.

"You tried to tell me, but I didn't want to listen...and if I had, you wouldn't have married him."

 _One- two- three- four- five._ I get up from the chair and lightly tread over to him. I hesitate before sitting down on the side of the bed. "It wasn't your fault." I count to five again, before putting my hand on his shoulder.

He continues to cry, not wanting to look at me. "I just keep fucking things up...and now you're pregnant...and I never thought my life would be this way."

"Shh," I rub his back gently, "It's alright. I can take care of things myself, if it's too much on you, D. I understand."

Dwight sighs, quietly sobbing. "No, that's not what I want. I want to help you and... take care of you and the baby...but every time I try...I just fuck it up, because I'm...I don't think I'm okay. It should be simple enough, but I...I don't know."

"I'm a big girl, Dwight," I pat his arm, "I can take care of myself and I'm gonna try my best with the baby, so worry about yourself for now."

"Yeah, but I...I don't want to be like my old man and not...not be there. I don't want...I don't want the baby to have to live between rooms."

My eyes soften. Dwight's never said anything about his dad before, nor has he ever talked about the baby this way. Come to think of it, neither of us has really ever discussed the baby. It's just been this elephant in the room.

"Well, Dwight...I can't promise you that we're gonna be able to live together again, but maybe if we stop pussyfooting around each other and be more honest...maybe we could try it again. That's why I moved out, right? So, we had space to figure this all out?"

He nods, sniffing. "Yeah."

"Stop drinking so much," I add, softly, "because it's not ever going to make things better."

"Yeah."

"And you have to sleep." I count to five for a third time, before I lay down, braving to put my arm around him. When he doesn't push, or pull, I shut my eyes. "It'll help clear your head."

"...I'm sorry for being an asshole to you."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna try to do better."

I pat his arm again. "Okay."

 **...**

The morning breeze raises goose bumps on my arms and chills my feet. I didn't sleep under the covers, because I was too afraid I'd wake him, trying to get under them. I listen to the sound of his breathing and when I know he's still asleep, I ever so carefully shrink out of the bed that smells like my shampoo. I rub my sleepy eyes and glance down at his peaceful state.

I back away from the bed, careful not to knock into any bottles, until I make it to the door. I reach behind me and turn the handle, gingerly slipping out. I shouldn't have slept there, even though nothing happened, but what could I do? He's the father of my baby and I...I think I care about him.

* * *

 **Once again, I hope you all enjoyed this week's chapter! I know many of you were hoping Negan would intrude on the doctor's appointment, but I just felt Nan needed to do this one alone. But who knows, there's always next time ;)**


	34. Friends Again

It's five minutes to six in the morning when I walk into Laura's room, after having slept about three hours in Dwight's. Laura's still asleep, since she normally doesn't wake up until about seven, so I move around the room with a tender foot. I turn on the coffee maker and put some water on the stove to boil for oatmeal, before I sit down in Laura's chair to wait.

As I wait, my mind replays last night's conversation with Dwight. I think I was really on the edge of leaving him behind and getting on with my life, but all the things he said, drunk or not, really put a hold on me that I can't quite describe. I didn't know he felt guilty about kicking me out, nor did I expect him to confess his anxieties about pending fatherhood. For the short time that I've known him, Dwight has mostly had this sort of guard up around him which I can't balk at, considering I have the same thing. He's only ever loosened up a handful of times, but even those times it was clear that he still kept parts of him reserved off from me.

It reminds me of that night when he made me leave. I said that he could fool anyone into thinking he was just as cruel as the rest of them and he said that that wasn't a bad thing. I guess after running off, having his wife agree to marry Negan in exchange for his life, and then getting half his face ironed, Dwight would have to put on a facade to survive here. And I suppose I was no exception to this act, since one never knows who can be trusted around here. I get it.

I lean my head on my hand as I start to feel nauseous. I take slow, deep breaths to try and calm it down, but I don't think it's going to work. Laura randomly coughs and a few seconds after that, she stirs.

She groans while stretching. "Do I smell coffee?"

I grin. "Yeah, I just brewed some."

"You just get in?" She asks with her eyes still closed.

I look away towards the door. "Uh, yeah. I...ended up staying."

Laura opens her dark circle rimmed eyes and glances at me. "How come?"

I put on a phony smile to try and mask the fact that I'm on the brink of hurling. "I wanted to make sure he didn't leave his room again." _Uh- oh._ I bolt from the chair and hurry over to the trash. Oh, god, I thought I gave morning sickness the slip. "Sorry."

"It's okay," She yawns, groggily rising out of bed, "Shit, I'm so fucking tired. I didn't go back to sleep for like twenty minutes after you left."

I gargle some mouthwash and spit it into the bin. "Sorry about that." I get up from the floor and walk to my trunk for my antacids.

Laura pours some coffee into a mug and sits down in the chair. "It's not like you got him drunk and dared him to bang on my door in the middle of the night."

I tap a few of the chalky tablets into my hand and toss them back. "No, but he wouldn't have done that if I wasn't here."

"What was so important?"

"Huh?" I put some coffee into a cup.

She tips her coffee back. "He came knocking at two in the morning, insisting he had to talk to you." Laura pulls her blonde hair back into a bun. "What was so urgent?"

I dismissively chuckle. "Oh, nothing. He was drunk and wanted company."

"Been there."

I look down into my coffee. "Yeah."

 **...**

Two hours later, I leave to get to work after breakfast. When I come up on Dwight's, I can faintly hear him barfing and so I don't even knock before I enter. The state he's in is no surprise to me. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging a trash bin between his legs as he miserably vomits. I reach my hand back to the closed door and rap my knuckle on it twice, just to let him know I'm here.

"Hey," I softly speak, twisting the cap off the bottle of my antacids, "I brought you some antacids. I don't know if they'll fix your hangover, but maybe they'll help settle your stomach."

He upchucks a few times, before he looks up at me. The poor bastard's sicker than a dog, but when his eyes sullenly meet mine, something keen grips me inside. I hold out two, minty antacids and he extends his hand. "Thanks."

"Sure." Just as my fingers come close to touching the palm of his hand, he cups his hand and his fingers caress mine for a split second. I calmly exhale, studying his sickly complexion. "Want me to make you some coffee, or toast?"

Dwight rubs his face as he chews the stomach savers. "No, it's alright," He holds his head after he stands up too quickly, "I can manage."

I nod and set the bottle on the counter of his kitchenette. "I'll leave these here for you."

"Thanks." He rasps.

I scratch my nose ring. "Well, I guess I better go." I walk over to the door to leave.

"Hey, Nan?"

I turn to face him. "Yeah?"

"You stayed here last night, right?" Dwight leans a bit on the counter. "I wasn't just, I don't know, in a stupor or something?"

I glance down at my hands, fiddling with them nervously. "Uh, yeah. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because you told me that you didn't want me to touch you, or to be in your bed and... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have slept here." I look up at him with troubled eyes.

"Oh." He clears his throat.

"I should've respected your space, but you were kind of upset and I was just trying to help and it worked the last time."

Dwight peers over at me, perhaps remembering the last time, as he takes up the bottle of antacids. "It's okay."

I have to take another deep breath. "Look, I...I understand why you said that and I just want to let you know that I do respect that."

"I was drunk." He replies, chewing two more antacids.

"Yeah, but you're sort of honest when you're drunk." I rest my hand on the door handle. "Like I said, I understand why you feel that way and I'm okay with it."

Dwight turns on his coffee maker and then returns to looking at me, scratching his brow. "Why do you think I said that?"

"Because I..." An aching lump forms in my throat, but when my eyes meet his, I make myself smile anyway, "Um, you know what? It doesn't matter. You were drunk and tired and maybe just said some random stuff that I read too much into." I open the door behind me. "I gotta go to work."

"Alright, but hey," He steps forward a little, going over to his chair, "Do you wanna have dinner later?"

"Dinner?"

"Yeah," He nods, "But maybe without the shitty ending?"

I smile and nod. "Okay. When?"

"Seven- thirty?"

"Yeah, okay," My eyes flicker to the direction of the hall where I hear voices, "Should I bring something?"

"No," Dwight runs a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair, "just yourself."

"Okay. See ya then." I exit his room and roll my eyes at my inner self. _Get a hold of yourself._

 **...**

The day goes on as usual. Reed and I work together on some things, but for the most part, we divvy up the tasks to get it done quicker. Reed's his typical, well- measured self, but if he hadn't told me the other day that he liked having me around, I think I'd be able to tell anyway. He's got a lot of responsibilities over this factory and I think he likes having an assistant to help cut the time he spends daily on all of it. Reed's position is, in a way, a powerful one. He essentially resides over every operation in the factory and not just worker related business. Negan's lucky to have someone like Reed, because Reed's diligence allows him be able to figuratively and literally fuck around if he wanted to. I can't imagine what this place would look like if Reed weren't around.

At one o'clock, I go out to the front gates to record the clock- ins and seeing Yancy makes me reconsider for a moment. Maybe Laura and Dwight aren't too far off the trail with him. I guess he could be interested in me, but I have doubts for the sole fact that I'm pregnant. Yancy's never paid me any mind before, so why now all of the sudden? Granted, he did work the night shift before and therefore slept all day and didn't really associate with people who are up during normal hours, but we've crossed paths in the hall from time to time and he barely acknowledged me.

"Hey, Nan," Solara waves at me as I approach the gates, "I read that book about the guy that turns into a cockroach."

I smile at her. "Like it?"

"Sort of boring, but it was alright." She informs.

Yancy smirks at me. "How's it goin'?"

"Fine." I say, casually avoiding eye contact with him. "Yourself?"

"Better now that I've seen your face." He charms with glinting teeth.

I grin faintly back. "You were late this morning?" I point with my pen to the sign- in sheet that shows that he clocked in fifteen minutes into nine.

"Uh, yeah," He nods, not trying to deny what he clearly can't, "I, uh, woke up a little late, on account of those two neighbors going at it again."

I tsk-tsk, shaking my head. "Well, according to Negan, there's no excuse for being late to your post," I glance briefly up at his unsure face, "But I doubt he'll even notice this time."

"Yeah." Yancy says with a little uncertainty.

I put the clipboard back on the nail where it hangs from. "See ya later." Both him and Solara repeat my words, as I stalk off.

The radio on my belt crackles. "Nan, this is Reed, I need you to get back to my office. A-SAP."

I pluck the radio up. "Alright, I'm on my way."

When I drudge through the factory and finally make it to Reed's office, I'm immediately depleted by the booming sound of Negan's loud mouth coming from the inside of the office. I open the door and find him sitting in Reed's chair, while Reed's sits where I usually do.

Negan's face lights up. "Well, hello there," He smirks, "How are you this fine afternoon?" I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. "Wait, let me guess. You're 'fine', right?"

I blink, not amused, but I'm not going to say anything in front of Reed that'll get me my head handing to me. "Is there a problem?"

Reed shakes his head, standing up. "No, no problems." He leaves the two of us in the office.

I wait for the click of the door to indicate that it's shut. "If you wanted to talk to me, why not just radio me yourself?"

Negan sticks his boots up on the desk. "I wanted to surprise you," He smiles, "because I wanted to see that scowl I knew you'd make, which I think is fucking cute."

I shift my weight on one leg, keeping my face plain. "So, what do you need?"

"I spoke to the doctor," His smile falters a little, "He said that you had a check up the other day that you said you went in for 'just vitamins.'" He air quotes.

"Yeah?"

Negan taps his fingers across the hard desk. "So, did you like the gift I had brought here for you?"

I look down at my clipboard. "Was that for me? I thought maybe it was because there was two pregnant women here now. Does Marisol know about it?"

"Who the fuck is Marisol?"

"Worker 51," I retort with an irritation in my voice, "Do you really not bother to learn any of their names?"

He shrugs. "You got an ultrasound?"

I scoff. "I did."

"And, so consequently, you were given a souvenir?"

My fingers mechanically tense around the clipboard. "I was."

Negan removes his feet off the desk and sits up, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. "So, where's it at?"

I start to furrow my brows. "Were you looking for it?"

His firm fixed gaze intensifies without him moving a muscle. "Do you have it on you?"

"Did you go looking for it in Laura's room?" I ask accusatively.

Negan abruptly rises, causing me to flinch a little from the screeching of the chair being pushed out and from Lucille, whom apparently was resting out of sight against the desk, tipping over onto the floor. "I'm not in the mood for your fucking smart mouth, Anna, so if I were you, I'd cut the shit."

"I'm not being smart. I was asking if you-"

"That's enough!" He shouts and I lower my eyes because of it. "Do you have the fucking thing?"

I shake my head, looking back up at him. "No, it's in my trunk."

Negan nods, gliding his tongue across his teeth. "Well, go get it."

"What?"

"Did I fucking stutter?" His voice rises a little more. "Go get the sonogram and bring it back here...please."

It takes me half a second to judge that I can do this the easy way, or the hard way and since I'm not about to let him turn Laura's room upside down; I tread over and practically slam my clipboard down on the desk, and then turn to go retrieve the sonogram. I hear him chuckle as I shut the door.

I return promptly with the sonogram and keep close to the door when our eyes meet.

He gives me a quick up and down, before putting his hand out. "Bring it here. Now." I walk over to him and offer him the sonogram. He takes it between his fingers. "Sit."

I sit down in the chair across from him and study his features. Negan's furrowed face is silent as he remains focused on what I assume is the baby in the middle. The clock in the room is nerve- racking as it ticks annoyingly between us. I clear my throat to try to pull him out of his quietude.

Negan looks up at me and inhales. "Well, shit, " He exhales, leaning back in the chair, "that's fuckin' something, isn't it?"

I glance at the sonogram that he places on the desk. "Yeah," I blandly agree, "it is."

His eyes are so much milder than before. "You're really having a baby, huh?"

"Yeah, I am."

Negan slides the picture over to me. "Dwight's seen it?"

"Well, of course," I take it and look it over, before returning my eyes to his grimace, "It's his baby."

"Jesus," He scoffs, rolling his eyes, "That broken record's getting real fuckin' old, Nan."

"Well, it's-"

"Shut up," Negan stops me before I have time to repeat, "Harlan told me that you have future appointments set up."

 _Shit._ "Yeah, so?"

Negan chuckles, reaching into his pants pocket and producing a piece of paper. "Looky here what I've got," He teases brightly, "The doctor wrote me down all the fucking dates and times of every last check- up."

My breathing shallows, but I try not to look upset. "You really plan on showing up to any of them?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm a busy fucking man, sweetheart," He grins, looking at the paper in his hand, "but I think I can move some things around."

I stand up and take my clipboard off the desk. "I have to get back to work."

 **...**

"Here, I'm finished." I hand Reed my portion of the logs and he looks it over.

After a few seconds, he nods. "Looks good." Once he records it down in the main book, we both stand up and exit the office. "Have a good night."

"Yeah, you, too." I numbly say, walking off.

Negan really knows how to get under my skin. I don't know how to convince him that the baby's not his, if that's even possible. His overbearing presence is just going to disrupt things between Dwight and I and he knows it. It's also going to put a ton of stress on me, which I already feel now.

The couple that use to be my neighbors are arguing loudly behind closed doors, but the hall is still filled with their raucous. I ignore the trivial bickering, but just as I pass their door, another door flies open behind me.

"Shut the fuck up!" Yancy shouts out. I turn around and we make eye contact. His face lessens, but when the door to the couple's room opens, he scowls back in that direction. "Why don't you two just fucking shut the fuck up for once?"

Neal steps halfway into the hall, pointing his finger at Yancy. "Yeah? Why don't you mind your own fucking business?"

"Kinda hard to do that when you and your wife are either fucking, or fighting as loud as fucking can be!" Yancy retorts.

"You're just fucking pissed that I wouldn't give you the time of day, when Neal and I separated!" Rachel intervenes with just as much anger.

Yancy chuckles. "Aw, I guess my cock wasn't as high up in the ranks as Simon's, huh?"

Neal lunges at Yancy and they both go down with fists flying. "Hey! Stop!" Rachel grabs her husband's arm to try and separate the two. Despite it maybe not being the best idea, I hurry over to help.

"C'mon, break it up! Stop!" I yell, pushing Neal off of Yancy. Rachel keeps Neal from clashing with Yancy again.

Yancy starts to stand. "You and your bitch wife-"

"Shut up!" I snap at Yancy, who's forehead, nose, and mouth are bloody.

"Talk about my wife like that again and I'll fucking put you on the fucking fence myself." Neal threatens as his wife shoves him through their doorway.

"Get inside." She orders and the door slams.

I look back at Yancy, unimpressed. He grins with blood in his teeth. "You really shouldn't interfere with other people's business." I head off down the hall.

"Hey, wait a minute, darlin'!"

"Sorry, I gotta go." I call behind me.

"Nan?" Hal's voice makes me halt and spin around to find him opening his door.

"Hey," I approach him and pull out the sonogram from my back pocket, "Look." I show him the sonogram and he squints at it before a smile spreads across his face.

"That's really cool!" Hal hugs me without warning. "I'm gonna be an uncle."

I giggle against him. "Oh, now I see why you've been the most excited in all this."

"Are you not excited?" He looks down at me, smiling, but bewildered. "You're having a baby."

"I'm...excited, it's just..."

"What's going on?" Hal asks, apparently seeing the concern flash across my face.

I sigh. "It's not that I'm not excited, or at least getting there, but I've got so much to do and Negan's breathing down my neck and...I'm tired, because Dwight woke me up last night and-"

"Have you moved house again?"

"No," I playfully roll my eyes at him, "He got drunk and came knocking on Laura's door at two a.m."

"Oh," Hal nods, "Everything alright?"

"Yeah." As much as I know Hal to be a trustworthy confidant, I wouldn't feel right telling him about Dwight's vulnerable moments. "The pregnancy's been kind of hard on him."

"Oh," Hal rubs the back of his neck, "Sorry to hear that."

I pat Hal's shoulder. "I gotta go, Uncle Hal."

"I rather like the sound of that!" Hal chuckles as I walk off towards Laura's room. "Uncle Hal." He says under his breath.

 **...**

At seven, I open the door to Dwight's room and find him by the stove, flipping a pancake in the air and catching it in the pan. "Impressive." I note.

He looks over my way. "What?"

I point to the pancake. "You caught it."

Dwight turns off the stove. "Oh, my grandpa taught me when I was I kid." He uses a spatula to put the pancake on a stack of at least eight, or nine little pancakes.

"You must've been close," I stroll forward away from the door, "I think you mentioned that he taught you how to carve wood also."

"Yeah," Dwight appears to hesitate for a second, before continuing, "My mom and I lived next door to my grandparents growing up, so I spent a lot of time over at their place."

I smile a little. "Feeling better?" He hands me a plate of four chocolate chip pancakes, which I mouth a 'thank you' for as I accept them.

"Um, yeah, thanks." He has a seat on the edge of his bed with his plate, knife, and fork.

"Good," I sit down in the armchair with my food, "How was your day?"

"A little rough 'cause of the hangover, but aside from that, it was pretty normal." Dwight cuts into his pancakes. "How about you?"

I twirl my fork in thought. "Negan came to Reed's office to talk to me." I meant what I said to him early this morning, when I said we needed to be more honest with each other. If I keep this kind of stuff from him, then I wouldn't have learned a damn thing.

He glances over at me with a leveled demeanor. "Oh. What'd he want?"

I cut my pancakes across both ways. "Well, he still thinks the baby's his and he wanted to see the sonogram."

An ear-splitting screech of his knife and fork against his plate, abruptly pierces the air. Dwight's eyes flicker back to me. "Did you show it to him?"

I nod, taking a bite of my food. "I did, but that was only because I really couldn't have said no."

He stabs a few squares of his pancakes with aggravation and sticks them in his mouth, clearly pissed. "And?"

"And he also has a list of all my appointments."

Dwight puts down his silverware and moves his plate to the side. "He asked the doctor for it?"

"Uh-huh." I can see the lividness in his attempt to keep collected. "But he might not even come to any of the check- ups. You know how he likes to mess with people."

"Yeah, I do." He answers right away.

"I can ask Harlan to reschedule them, if you'd like." I softly suggest.

"No," He shakes his head, "He'd find out and it could put the two of you in hot water."

I nod, twisting my mouth to the side. "Well, you could come, too." _God, how awkward would that be?_ For Dwight and I, not Negan. Nothing makes him uncomfortable. He'd have a blast, I'm sure.

Dwight looks at me and thinks for a minute, before sighing. "I told you why I can't go inside the infirmary with you."

"You remember our conversation?"

He nods. "Yeah, most of it, I think."

I place my plate on the end table and then put my hands in my lap. "Dwight, I know you're worried that Harlan won't help me, but I really think he's a good guy."

"Yeah, but you would help someone who's...child's father is the reason your brother died?"

I think about my own brother for a second and sigh. "I don't know."

"Exactly."

I sigh again. "So, how much of the conversation do you remember?"

Dwight looks down at his hands. "I remember you telling me why you married him and I remember..." he exhales, " you getting into bed with me." Our eyes briefly and shyly meet. "You told me to worry about myself. To not drink so much and to get some sleep."

I nod my head. "Yeah..."

"Nan, about what I said to you about the bed and... and touching me, I-"

"Don't." I stop him, not wanting hear what I already know. "I know, you don't have to say it."

"What you think I'm about to say?" Dwight asks, furrowing his brows in confusion.

 _That you can't bear the thought of being with me like that again, because I've been with Negan._ "Let's change the subject, please." I draw my leg up in the seat of the chair.

He stares at me for a moment or two, as if trying to read me, before nodding gently. "Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

I rub the spot on my thumb that I picked last night until it bled. "How about we discuss...us?"

Dwight looks down at my thumb. "Alright."

I don't begin scratching at my thumb like I wanted to, because of his staring. "We've had two conversations about trying to work things out, but we never really talked about what that looks like in action. Instead, we just avoid each other and step on each other's toes."

He scoffs. "Yeah."

"I thought about what you said about the baby having two homes...or rooms," I continue, "And I would like for that to not be the case, but to be honest, if things don't change, then I foresee that being a reality."

Dwight nods in agreement. "So, how do we change things?"

If this were a normal situation, we'd have sex, because that's my M.O., but that's not how I want to do this. Besides, I think I may repulse him, so it might not even be a back up option. "Well, we could start by being more straight forward with one another and communicate better and more often. And I guess...we could try to be friends, again."

He looks down in his hands in thought. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

I smile faintly, but gladly. "Okay." We're quiet for a few moments. I glance down to his bandaged hand. "What happened to your hand?"

He turns the hand over to the backside, where the knuckles are wrapped. "I, uh, hit the wall out front."

I nod, suspecting that it wasn't by accident. "When you were out smoking?" I recall when I did the same thing after I got back from Alexandria, except I only scraped a knuckle.

Dwight touches the bandage. "Yeah, I'm thinking about quitting."

A random chuckle escapes me. "Well, if it's getting painful..."

His mouth tips upward and he snickers. I stand up and reach into my back pocket. I produce the sonogram I've been carrying all day and glance kindly down at it. When I notice he's peering over at it, I offer it to him. "Would you like to see it again?"

"Yeah." He takes it and beholds.

I turn my upper body back towards the fridge, which four little round magnets cling to. "I was thinking that maybe, if you want, I could leave it here with you."

"With me?"

I shift back to facing his docile expression. "Yeah," I nod, assuring, "I could put it up there on the fridge."

Dwight's eyes glance back down to the sonogram. "Don't you want it?"

I tuck some hair behind my ears. "Well, not to sound all saccharine, but I've got the real thing," He faintly smiles as he keeps his eye on the picture, "And I figured since you said you were gonna try to work on yourself, it'd maybe be a good motivator, or something." I oddly feel embarrassed by what I say. "Want me to put it up?"

He looks at me and stands up, passing it back. "Sure."

I walk over to the fridge, place the sonogram where I think is a good spot, and then place two magnets on diagonal corners. "There."

Dwight's suddenly at my elbow, but it doesn't startle me. We both look at it where it rests, like it's a painting in a gallery. "Thank you."

I turn my head to look at him. "Well, I just thought since we aren't living together right now, that you should have something." He turns his head to meet my eyes. "Since you're the father."

He smiles at me and I smile back. Our eyes stay glued to each other for some time and I can feel the heavy circulation in the space between us. He nervously shifts a bit and it seems as if he may have done so to shorten the distance. _Don't get your hopes up._ I lower my head and my cheeks flush as I clear my throat.

"Thanks for inviting me to dinner."

Dwight looks down, putting his hand in his pocket. "Uh, yeah, no problem." He also clears his throat. "Um, thanks for...bringing me back here early this morning."

I nod, putting my hand into my front pocket and pulling out a paper. "I copied down my appointment schedule for you, in case you change your mind about coming." I unfold it and secure it below the sonogram.

 **...**

Another week effortlessly rolls by and I'm happy to report that Dwight and I have been doing pretty good working on our friendship, so far. He hasn't avoided me like he usually does. In fact, he'll sometimes approach me and ask how I am, while I'm working and I know that seems like small tuppence, but it really means a lot to me and I consider it progress. I have another appointment coming up and while I'm anxious, I'm trying not to let it grow on me like fungi, in order to lessen stress levels. I'm really hoping the only man that shows up to the appointment is the father of my baby.

I get my laundry together this morning and head to the laundry room to wash my clothes, before breakfast and work. I turn down the hall where Dwight lives and the door that always seems to be open is open and I chuckle a little bit when I see all four of the usual brood, lying passed out in various places. Everett's snoring and I uncontrollably cackle when I see what looks like a penis drawn on his forehead in purple ink. He grunts and shifts out of sleep, sitting up.

I continue down the hall after he rubs his eyes and notices me. "Hey, Nan!" He calls after me with a dry voice.

I turn. "Yeah?"

"How's the tat?" He hangs on his doorframe.

I try not to burst out laughing at the artwork he appears to be oblivious to, so I look down at my laundry basket. "Oh, it's all healed up." I lift my elbow and rotate it for him to see his work.

"Cool," Everett nods, "Oh and hey, listen, I know you weren't the one who told Negan that it was me who did it."

I nearly give myself whiplash because of how fast I turn my head back to him. "What?"

"Yeah, Wyatt fessed up to telling Negan about seeing you, me, and Han in the room that day. Negan told me not to do it again if you asked, but thanks anyway for keeping your word."

I blink, a little dumbfounded. "Oh, yeah, well we shook on it." Why am I even surprised that Negan went digging around?

"So, I heard you were expecting?" He smirks, looking over the slightly more pronounced tummy under my shirt.

"Um, yeah, I am." I nod, oddly matching his smirk. "It's Dwight's." I announce, deciding to do my best to stamp out any rumors that say otherwise.

"Oh, nice," Everett scratches his five o'clock shadow, "I guess he's good boyfriend material."

"Uh, w-well, we, um..."I stammer, trying to find the words.

"You know, because he's stickin' by you after you traded your panties to me and then married the boss. Most guys would have gotten the hell outta Dodge, baby, or no baby." He peaks over into the basket, so I move some stuff around to hide my lacy underwear, making him chuckle.

I open my mouth to speak, but I can't seem to gather my thoughts. "Nan?" Both Everett and I move our heads towards the end of the hall. _Hallelujah, it's Dwight!_ His hair's messy and his clothes look like he just through them on.

"Hey," I kindly rasp, "Good morning."

"Morning." He rasps, before looking over at Everett. His eyes squint and the face that he makes can only be at Everett's forehead.

"Uh, see ya later, Nan. Congrats on the parasite." Everett nervously tells me, before grinning formally back at Dwight. "See ya, D."

"Go find a mirror, Rett, Jesus." Dwight scoffs back and I try my hardest not to laugh.

Everett seems confused, but goes back into his room, closing the door behind him. I hear a not so quiet, "Oh, you fuckers," shortly after. I chuckle and then turn back to Dwight.

"You're up early." I say, packing my basket towards him.

He looks down at his watch. "So are you."

"No, I sometimes get up around five," Courtesy of Negan, "its not so bad. An extra hour to get some things done. What are you doing up?"

"I had to take a piss," He informs me and I can't help but snicker a little, which makes him do the same, "Sorry for the subtly."

I giggle under my breath. "It's okay."

Dwight looks down at my laundry and scratches the side of his moustache. "You know what? I haven't done laundry in awhile and I should probably do some." He says the last four words over a yawn.

"Well, why don't you get me what you need washed and I'll just throw it in with mine?" I politely offer, yawning only because he did first.

"Oh, no, I've got it." He opens his door and goes inside. I tread over to the door and spy him picking up clothing items and tossing them into a milk crate. Dwight yawns again and groans a little at the end.

"Sleep okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, I got to bed around midnight." Dwight replies, walking over with his laundry.

"You know, that doesn't look like much, Dwight," I tell him upon inspection, "Just let me do it, so you can sleep for a few more hours."

"I don't want you to have to carry it all back," He mildly argues, "It'll be heavier wet."

I smile. "It'll be like five to ten pounds at the most, I can handle it."

"You sure?" He yawns for a third time.

"Yes, just dump it in." I hold my basket out and he pours the contents of his crate into it.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

It only takes me half an hour to do both mine and Dwight's laundry, so once done, I promptly head back towards Dwight's. As I get back on the second floor, I can already hear the two lovebirds in their maritals before I even turn down that hall. Although I don't really know either of them very well, I'm glad that they were able to somewhat patch things up after Neal found out about his wife and Simon. I don't imagine he ever was bold enough to confront Simon about it. Hell, I wouldn't be brave enough to confront Simon, if he were sleeping with my wife.

 _Oof!_ I absentmindedly collide into this big, burly Savior and drop my laundry basket on the ground. "You wanna watch where you're fucking going?" He pushes me to the side, so he can pass.

I look down at my spilled laundry and then back at his figure disappearing down the hall. "Thanks for the help," I sarcastically murmur, "I just love living in a nice, wholesome community, where everyone's such a doll."

The door right by me opens and I see a pair of boots step out near my dumped laundry. "Mornin'."

I glance up to find Yancy kneeling down to eye level. "Good morning."

"Need some help?" He lifts up some damp articles of clothing and places them in the basket.

"Uh, sure." I shyly watch to make sure he doesn't find any of my underwear.

"Were you just talking to yourself?"

"Um," I look at him and my eyes instantly redirect to the cut above his eye brow, "Oh, you're cut!" I point to my brow to communicate where he's bleeding.

Yancy touches his cut and brings two fingers down to his line of sight. "Oh, shit." He gets up and goes into his room, leaving the door wide open. I pick up the last of my laundry and rise, nosily peaking into his room. "Hey, can you help me for a sec?"

I anxiously look around the empty hall, before reluctantly stepping inside of the room. "What's up?"

"I think that asshole split my eye open," Yancy scoffs, looking in a hand mirror, "Do you think this needs stitches?"

I set down my basket by the door and walk over to him. I inspect the cut on his forehead. "Yeah, if it hasn't closed by now, I'd get some stitches," I finally conclude, "Put one of those butterfly band aids on it for now."

"Thanks," He smirks and starts to rip open a band aid, "Would you mind?"

"Sure." I nod, taking the band-aid from him and peeling off the little white tabs. I gently tap it right above his left brow and my eyes apprehensively trail down to his, which are looking me over. I bring my hand back over to my space and demurely look down. "There."

"Thanks," Yancy's smile grows, "Sorry you had to see that the other day. My neighbors and I don't get along." He snickers.

I raise my brow. "Would that have anything to do with you telling Neal that his wife was having an affair?"

His cocky smile chastens a bit and he rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, I guess that was pretty shitty of me."

"Yeah." I bite my lip in thought, as I peer around his surprisingly impeccable room. I flinch a little when his fingers brush some hair behind my ear. The moment I go to ask him what he's doing, Yancy crashes his mouth down on mine. I push him back a bit, breaking from the kiss. "W-what are you-"

"It's okay, darlin'." He says, before going in to kiss me again. _Crack!_

I slap him before he has the chance to. He steps back, holding the side of his face. "What are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted me to!"

I shake my head, puzzled. "I-I'm pregnant...with another man's child!"

He gives me a dimpled smirk. "I don't mind, if you don't."

I scoff in disbelief and go over to my laundry basket. "I think you misread me, Yancy."

"Are you telling me you weren't flirting with me down by the gates, or the other night when I came by Laura's?" He asks incredulously.

I turn my body towards him and give him a look. "No, I wasn't. Why on earth would I flirt with you? I'm pregnant and I...I'm trying to work things out with Dwight."

He scoffs. "Man, I thought you'd be an easy in, given your reputation."

"My reputation," I chuckle bitterly, "So, is what Rachel said true? You go after women you think are fast and easy?"

Yancy grins, guilty as charged. "I just wanna screw around with some girl who won't read too much into it, so yeah, I like fast food. Plus, I always wanted to know what it was like to fuck one of Negan's wives without consequences and I figured you were the closest I was gonna get."

I close my mouth with displeasure. "I gotta go." I huff out of his room and walk quickly down the hall to Dwight's room. Once there, I knock lightly on his door.

"Come in." I hear him say, which must mean he knows it's me.

I open the door and he's lying on his side in bed. I don't speak; I just take out the clothes that I washed for him and begin hanging them in random places around the room where they can dry. I know I said that Yancy was hot and that I'd serve myself up to him, but I was just being facetious. And I might have been a little tongue tied around him, but that doesn't mean he can just give me chocolate mix and think that's grounds for kissing me.

"Nan?" Dwight's voice pulls me from my anxiety.

"Sorry?"

I see he's sitting up in bed and looking at me with a low-grade concern. "I said I was gonna make some coffee and asked if you wanted any."

"Oh," I lightly say, "Um, no, thank you."

"You alright?"

I almost tell him yes and move on, but remind myself to be honest. "Um, I'm alright, it's just that I ran into Yancy and he...kissed me." Dwight's eyes look over to the door. "I told him I wasn't interested and he just, you know, said some things."

Dwight glances back to me. "What sort of things?"

"Don't worry about it," I smile faintly, "I set him straight."

"You sure, you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I take up my basket, "See ya later."

 **...**

Later on in the afternoon, I record the sign- ins and discover that Yancy was, yet again, late for his post, but I didn't say anything to him. I gave Solara a quick hello and then left right after I got the information I needed. Yancy didn't mind ignoring me either. On my way back to the office, I hear footsteps behind me and by the sound of the strides; I can take a wild guess who it is.

"Hey, beautiful!" Negan puts his arm around me as we walk. "Long time, no fuckin' see."

"I saw you two days ago, remember?" I remind him bleakly, "You stopped me by the fireplace and asked me to give you the stats on some things." I frankly doubt he actually needed to know any of the stuff he asked about then; he just did it to pester me.

"Yeah, but two whole days is a long fuckin' time to not see to my best girl," He chuckles, plainly, "Well, actually, Lucille's my best girl, but second place ain't too bad, right?"

"I'm not your girl," I adamantly claim, "We're divorced."

"I like to think of it as a trial separation." Negan retorts arrogantly.

"Well, I don't." I open the office door and lament when I don't see Reed in here. "I'm happily divorced."

Negan takes the clipboard from my fingers and sits his ass on the front of the desk, looking it over. "Hm, well, you know what makes for good fucking? Rekindling old flames."

"There were no flames." I murmur.

He looks over at me with a cocked brow. "Right, I fuckin' forgot I had to pry those nice legs of yours open with a crowbar."

I huff. "I was performing my wifely duties, because that's what was expected of me."

"Baby, if you performed only what was expected of you, the others wouldn't have been so neglected."

I scratch at my thumb. "I don't remember them complaining about being neglected."

"They live very privileged lives, honey, so they don't complain about much, but I know how to read a room." His eyes nonchalantly traipse through the papers.

"Yeah and besides, who ever complained about someone else doing the chores, so they don't have to?"

Negan blinks back up to me with his piercing stare. _Shit, what are you thinking?_ A moment later, he smiles widely and his shoulder shakes with laughter. He wipes under his eye. "Damn, I think I'm falling for you, Nan. "

I walk over to the window that overlooks the mechanic's yard. I scan the yard for Marisol, but don't see her. _What is he even doing here?_ The books aren't done yet, so why is his looking over what's on my clipboard?

"Fucking hell, Yancy!"

I whip around. "What?"

"He's fucking late to his goddamn post almost every fucking day!" Negan scoffs.

"Well, maybe he's having a hard time adjusting to the change," I lean against the wall, "Maybe he should go back to graveyard. He was never late then."

Negan sets my clipboard down on the desk. "Maybe."

I bite my lip. "Yeah," I walk over to the desk and pick up my clipboard, "I never knew how forward he could be." I brush past Negan, until he catches me by my elbow.

"Forward?" His brows are furrowed.

I causally shrug. "Yeah, I guess I never really talked to him before, since he was always asleep during the day, so I didn't know he was such a go getter." I look over at Negan who doesn't look too pleased. "But if I was that good- looking, I suppose I'd have that confidence, too. I gotta go pee." I exit Reed's office and close Negan in the room.

 **...**

Laura's fidgety tonight for some reason. She keeps glancing over at the clock and she barely touched her dinner. The tapping sound she makes with her fingernail against the back of the hard cover book she's got in her hand is distracting. I look up from my book and look at her.

"Too much caffeine?"

She stops tapping, confused. "Huh?"

I sit up in bed. "You're a little jittery."

Laura shifts in her chair. "Oh, I'm cool, it's just..."

"Just?"

She glances over me, as if trying to decide if she can trust me. "Hal asked if I wanted to eat lunch with him today."

"Oh," I nod in understanding, "How'd it go?"

"It was alright," Laura relays, "We had a disagreement a while back and he said that we should let bygones be bygones."

"And are you?"

"Yeah, yeah, we are." She looks from the clock to the door.

I smile and notice that it's almost eleven. "You know, I think I'm gonna take a walk." I get out of bed and reach for my shoes. "Get some fresh air."

"It's late." Laura claims, but without argument.

"Yeah, but I can't sleep," I shrug on my new jacket and head to the door, "I'll be back in an hour, or so."

I stroll through the halls that are mostly quiet and smile at the thought of Hal and Laura being friends again. I think their definition of friends is actually spelled with quotation marks, but I can't judge. When I get to the entrance, I try to open the door without creating too much noise, so the workers won't be disturbed. I'm glad I wore my jacket, because it's cold out tonight.

"Nan?"

I turn and am delighted to see Dwight by the yellow railing. He drops his cigarette and puts it out with his boot. "Hi."

"It's late," He clears his raspy voice, "What are you doing out here?"

I smile sleepily. "I wanted some fresh air," I walk over and rest my hands on the railing, "What are you doing, besides thinking about quitting?" I motion my eyes towards the cigarette butt on the ground.

Dwight smiles softly and we both snicker. "It's harder than it looks."

I chuckle under my breath and look out by the gates, shocked by what I see, or rather by whom. Yancy's down at the gates with the other guard, drooping his head downward as he leans against the post with exhaustion. Negan must have stuck him back on the night shift and right away as punishment for being late, among other things. Yancy finally lifts his head up and shortly after, he locks eyes with me from afar. I hold an enduring gaze at him for a while, before averting my attention.

I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jacket and look out into the black of the night past the fences and the dead. The wind drags a gust of hair into my face and I sigh, brushing it back. A bird sings out in an unknown location beyond the Sanctuary. I listen to it brag about it's freedom, while Dwight stands quietly next to me.

After a few serene minutes, Dwight's boots scratch against the concrete as he shuffles them. "Well, I think I'm gonna go inside."

I straighten up and look his way. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

 **Another week, another chapter! Hope its an enjoyable one!**

 **CLTex: Thanks for the review! Yeah, I agree; it's nice when Dwight can be more open than normal. I've always seen him in both the comic and show to be somewhat reserve and so I try to portray him the same way, because I think it suits him, but I do LOVE those more sweeter moments.**

 **PruRose: You are too kind! Thank you, it's always lovely to receive compliments on my writing since I spend perhaps way too much time on this little fic! And yes, I do know Pepe and it's so funny you mentioned him, because I was just laughing to myself the other day, thinking the exact same thing! LOL**


	35. Doubt

I wake up this morning thirteen weeks pregnant and alone in Laura's room. When I got back in from my walk last night, she wasn't here, but I hardly expected her to be.

As I get dressed, I peer over into the mirror at my pregnancy. According to the book, I should start my second trimester today and should be starting to show more, but I don't see it. Then again, my belly is looking more curved and less like just the extra weight I put on when I pigged out throughout my marriage.

After breakfast, I change the splint for my broken finger and leave to go to work another day as assistant bean counter. Today's my second appointment, so I can tell it's going to be a little difficult to concentrate by the slight edge I already feel. I'm really hoping that Dwight will come, despite his reservations. As far as I know, Harlan doesn't even know that Dwight is responsible for his brother's death. Technically, most everyone believes what Negan believes, at least from what I gather, or don't care enough to raise question, so I can't imagine Harlan's heard any different. I mean, I get that Dwight's being cautious, but I'd really like to have him come instead of the obnoxious alternative.

When I get out to the gates, Solara and her new partner are chatting it up like I've never seen before. The guard that's replaced Yancy is another woman with a curly pixie cut. Solara's talking about what I can only assume is something book related and the other guard doesn't seem bored or annoyed like the other guards that have stood with Solara before.

"Morning." I say as I walk up to record the clock- ins.

Solara smiles and waves. "Hey," She greets politely, "This is Ada."

"Hi."

"Hi." Ada puts her hand up.

Solara leans in towards me and whispers. "Yancy got booted back to graveyard, because he was late all the time."

"Oh, wow." I feign surprise.

"Yeah, he had to stay on watch after three and straight through until whenever graveyard ends. Dude has to be exhausted."

"Well," I hang the sign- in sheet back up, "I guess the lesson of the day is; don't be late to your post." I walk off towards the entrance with a smidge of pride. I guess it was a little vindictive to use Negan to get back at Yancy, but that'll teach him to try and prey on women he thinks are easy targets. Besides, Negan could've done worse.

Reed wanted me to find Keller and ask about the condition of the incinerator that's broken down again. Once I get the not so good status on how soon it can be repaired, I come back up from the basement and feel a little grumbling in my stomach. I look at the nearest clock and see that it's twelve- thirty, so I'm going to take a break and get something to eat. On my way to Laura's room, something strange catches my eye. I see Marisol in the kitchen area with an apron and a dour look on her face. If I wasn't so hungry, I'd go over to ask what she's doing there, but I decide it'd be a better idea to wait until she's off work to talk to her.

"Hey."

I turn my head forward and see Dwight approaching me. "Hi," I spy a bag slung across him, "Are you going somewhere?"

He touches the strap that rests against his torso. "Yeah, Negan wants me to go help with some shit in one of the outposts. I should be back before sundown."

I try not to convey what a let down that is. "Oh, okay," My stomach growls again, "Well, I guess I'll see you later then."

Dwight's eyebrows gather a little, before they rise in realization. "Oh, shit," He sighs, looking off for a second, "you've got your appointment today, huh?"

I nod, smiling blandly. "Yeah, but don't worry about it. It's not like you were gonna come, right?" I immediately realize by the look on his face that I sounded a little snotty. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that-"

"No, no I, uh...I understand what you meant." He assures me, scratching his head.

My stomach continues to nag me to go find food. "Well, maybe when you get back I could, I mean, if you're not tired, I could come by and give you the lowdown."

He nods quickly. "Yeah, I'd like that."

I smile, nodding again like a nervous dummy. "Okay."

"Alright," Dwight looks over his shoulder at the entrance, "Well, I should head out."

"Yeah." I barely say and watch him as he goes.

 **...**

At two o'clock, I leave Laura's room after finishing lunch and head to the infirmary for my check- up. I'm up on the third floor, about fifty feet away from the stairs to the fourth floor, when I hear the squeak of somebody else's shoes against the floor. I turn and see Davy, much to my dismay.

"Hey, Nan," He smirks as he trails behind me, "How's divorced life treatin' ya?"

I keep my sights on him from the side of my eye. "Fine."

"Fine? You're not a little embarrassed?"

"Why would I be embarrassed?"

Davy snickers. "For being so lousy in bed that the boss gave you the boot."

I roll my eyes. "I guess I'm not as fragile as some people about that sort of thing."

"Oh, I disagree," He claims and I get a little anxious when he follows me into the stairwell, "I'd say you are a lot more vulnerable than before, given the whole bun in the oven situation."

I go up the stairs a little quicker than I normally would, all while trying to appear calm. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Davy says behind me, "I think you should to be more careful around people, you know?" Once at the top of the stairs, I turn to him with furrowed brows. He looks up at me with menacingly cool eyes. "Pissing off the wrong person could be costly. So I'd play nice from now on, if I were you."

I close my mouth and continue to walk with a slightly faster tread to the doctor's. The echoing of Davy's chuckling irks me, but I'm relieved to discover that he hasn't pursued me further. _Did he just threaten me?_ He did, right?

The hall outside the infirmary is empty, so now I just have to hope that Negan isn't already inside waiting. I knock then enter the room and see Harlan setting up the ultrasound, alone. _Yes!_

"Afternoon," Harlan smiles at me, "How have you been?"

"Um, good, I think," I cup my hands together, "Nothing out of the ordinary as far as I know."

"Good." He goes to wash his hands in the sink in the bathroom. "Is it gonna be just the two of us again, or is your boyfriend on his way?"

"Just us," My cheeks flush as I push myself up on the exam table, "My...uh, the baby's father had to go out today."

He nods, drying his hands. "Well, then we'll get started."

Harlan takes my vitals, which are all to his liking. He tells me that he would like to space out my appointments since things seem to be going well. I thought every two weeks was a little much anyway, so I agree. Harlan shamefully informs me about giving Negan a list of my appointments, but I tell him I already know and that I understand the position he was in. However, he explains that because he was planning on spacing out my check- ups, Negan was given the updated version already, which bums me out a little.

His overall genial disposition makes me get a sliver of an impulse to ask him about Carson, as a way of poking around to see if I can determine whether or not it'd be a good idea to encourage Dwight to put his fears to rest; but I don't. I'm not getting any vengeful vibes from this guy. From what he's done for me so far though, I feel like maybe I can trust him a little. He's not like anyone here. Sure, Harlan keeps his head down and does his work like another other person who's forced to live here, but ultimately; he's an outsider who doesn't seem to be as comfortable as Eugene when it comes to assimilating.

During the ultrasound, Harlan's brows knit slightly as he observes the shape on the monitor. "Is there something wrong?" I ask.

He looks at me apprehensively. "Technically, no."

My heart beat picks up. "What does that mean?"

Harlan points to the screen. "I thought you looked a little small to be as far along as thirteen weeks," He looks at my face and tries to backtrack, " But then again, every body's different."

"So, I'm not at thirteen weeks yet?" I ask morosely, picking up on what's he implying.

Harlan glances back at the screen and so do I. "Two weeks difference is sort of hard to distinguish, but I'm thinking that eleven weeks might not be so unrealistic a possibility."

I can feel tears aching behind my eyes and just as I open my mouth to speak, the door creaks open. _Oh, fuck, not now!_ Negan enters the room with his usual smirk across his face.

"Good afternoon," He beams as he closes the door behind him, "Sorry I'm late, I had a situation to deal with." After he leans Lucille against the wall by the door, he turns to face us. His confidence snags when he notices the uneasiness in my face. "Everything alright?"

Harlan clears his throat. "Everything's perfectly fine," He tells Negan, whose eyes flicker to him, "The baby's heart rate is 151 beats per minute and the fetal development appears normal." He looks to me as if trying to hint that I should say something. "Blood pressure's a little high, but nothing a little decompressing can't fix."

Negan's discerning sight moves back to me for a moment, before he exhales and walks over to the two of us. "That the heartbeat I'm hearing?"

Harlan nods, motioning towards the monitor. "Yes, and this is the image of the baby."

Negan rests his forearm on the exam table just above my head and leans over me. I try to avert my eyes from him, but by the time his cologne hits me, I glance sheepishly up at him. "Ho-ly Shit," He chuckles with a subdued enthusiasm, "Would you take a look at that?" He smiles and then looks down at me, causing me to turn my eyes back to the screen.

Harlan presses the button on the machine that will print out another sonogram, before taking the hand device off my belly. I then sit up and slide off the table, striding over to the bathroom to clean the goo off me, heartbroken.

"How soon will we know if it's a boy, or girl?" Negan asks Harlan.

"Uh, typically eighteen to twenty weeks, if the baby's positioning is conducive," The doctor relays, "Sometimes I can take an educated guess sooner, but it'll be more accurate later on."

Tears pool and then drip on my hands as I button my jeans back up, while listening to more of Negan's invasive questions. I take some toilet paper from the roll and dab it around my eyes to dry the tears before exiting. When I reemerge, I'm both infuriated and disheartened by the sight of Negan holding the sonogram. I want to march over and snatch it from his clutches, but I know that being audaciously combative towards him in public would be stupid and that I won't gain anything but consequence.

Harlan goes over to his desk and pulls a paper from a drawer. "Here, Nan," He hands it to me, "It's the updated schedule."

I fold it without looking and stick it into my pocket. "Thanks." When Harlan's eyes drift from me, I turn to look at Negan, who's sitting on the exam table with a rather prideful smile.

My eyes lower to the sonogram between his fingers. "Can I have that, please?"

"Nope," He tucks it into the pocket of his jacket, "I'm gonna hold onto it."

I apathetically don't argue, considering it's pointless. Instead, I just meekly thank Harlan again and then leave the infirmary.

"Anna." The door to the infirmary closes behind me and I feel tension in my shoulders at Negan's voice. I hate when he calls me Anna.

"Hm?"

"Turn around and face me," He commands, "Don't be fuckin' rude."

I shut my eyes with anguish before doing so. I look at him with a heavy scowl. "Yes?"

Negan gives me the up and down. "Come on," He signals for me to follow him with two fingers, "Let's talk."

"I have to work." I push mildly.

"The fuck you do," He challenges with stern eyes, "I talked to Reed on my way up here and he said you turned in your list of chores an hour ago."

 _Damn my efficiency._ "Well, I'm tired."

"Well, I don't fucking care!" Negan booms. "Now!"

I acridly lick my bottom lip as my throat starts to ache. I tread past him to avoid him seeing the tears that well up.

He doesn't say anything as we ascend up the factory, floor by floor. He whistles a cheery tune, which upsets me. Once we get to the very top, I stop three steps before the door that will take me to his floor. Negan doesn't hesitate; he just opens the door and then glances my way to indicate for me to come along. I begrudgingly go up and enter the top floor.

I follow him down the hall and briefly peek over to the drawing room where the wives notice me passing by with him. Negan opens the door to his room and ushers me inside. "Want something to drink?"

I scoff softly. "I can't have alcohol, I'm pregnant."

"Yeah, no shit," He states, somewhat amused, "There's more than alcohol up here, dumb ass."

"No, I don't want anything."

"How about something to eat?"

"I said I don't want anything." I coolly snap.

Negan closes the door and walks further into the room. "You don't have to be a cunt about it, Anna. I was just fuckin' trying to be nice, alright? So, get off my fucking nuts."

I wring my hands together, as I watch him remove his jacket after putting Lucille down. "You sent Dwight away on purpose." I accuse.

He groans with annoyance. "Is that right?" He puts his hand out for me to sit down.

"Yes," I sit down in a chair, "Don't insult my intelligence by claiming otherwise."

"Jesus, why the fuck am I trying so damn hard with you, huh?" Negan sardonically chuckles, planting himself on the sofa across from me. "All I do is try to make nice and you just keep biting my hand."

I huff, glancing over to the window. "Well, maybe you should stop trying and give up."

"You'd fuckin' like that, wouldn't you?" He rolls his eyes as he laughs incredulously. "Well, unfortunately for you, I have some awesome tenacity."

"What ever happened to not chasing pussy?" I inquire dryly.

He smiles widely. "Good incentive."

I look back to his dark, hazel eyes. "What am I doing here?"

The vivacity in Negan's smile settles down a little as he leans forward. "I saw a look on your face when I entered and it bugged me."

"What look?"

"You looked like you were in some sort of...I don't know, distress." He says before his smile picks up. "It wasn't because of little ol' me, was it?"

"No," I lie, not wanting to give him that satisfaction, "it was something else."

"Baby related?"

My head feels like a cannonball as I shake my head. "No."

"You are a bad fuckin' liar, Nan," He reclines back in his seat, putting his foot up on the table, "that dead boyfriend of yours must have been pretty fucking gullible, if you think you can just lie so easily and get away with it."

I grimace at him and struggle with the water works. "He wasn't gullible," I croak, looking back to the window, "They never really are."

"They?"

"The people who love us and that we cheat on," I bleakly clarify, "They're never as gullible as we'd like them to be."

"Why is that?" Negan asks with all good humor diminishing from his tone.

"Why aren't they gullible, or why do we want them to be?"

"...Both."

I peer back at his daunting, yet curious expression. "They aren't really all that gullible, because they most likely know us better than we think. Our tone of voice, or the way we move about; it changes when we do something we feel guilty about and they can feel it. And we want them to be oblivious, because then we don't have to worry about seeing the pain in their eyes. Nor do we have to worry about the day that pains goes away and becomes indifference, because that's when they've stopped caring." I fiddle with my splinted finger.

Negan's scowl doesn't lessen as he continues to stare at me. I can see his eyes scan across my face and I can only imagine what he might be thinking. " _Does she know? What does she know? What does she think she knows?_ " He finally inhales and exhales sharply, but quietly. "You can leave now, Anna."

Victory. I stand up, still looking at him. "Please stop calling me Anna."

 **...**

I mindlessly stare at the logs Reed's set in front of me, not really paying attention to anything. I thought I woke up thirteen weeks pregnant, but what Harlan said is starting to put doubt in me. I can't help but think about early this morning when I thought I looked a little less pregnant than I should be. Eleven weeks? That means that the baby could be Negan's...

"Hey!"

I glance down at the pen that just landed on my lap from Reed tossing it at me, before looking up. "What?"

"You done with that, yet?" Reed lifts his brows in question.

"Oh," I hand him the logs, "yeah."

Reed looks down at my work and shakes his head. "No, you're not. Half of it still needs to be done."

"I'm sorry," I sigh, frustrated with myself, "My brain has been in a fog since I left the doctor's."

He looks at me over his glasses. "Everything good?"

"Yeah." I vaguely report.

Reed nods. "Well, you can go if you want. I can finish up the rest."

"No, I don't want you to have to pull my load for me."

"Oh, please. I've been doing the books solo every single day since we had a proper system without help, until now." He shoos me off. "Don't get me wrong, I like having an extra hand, but I can manage, kid. It'll take me like ten minutes."

"Are you sure?" I ask, as I look towards the door.

"Yes, I'm sure." Reed rolls his eyes and I start to head out. "But, hey!"

I turn. "Yeah?"

He points his pen at me. "If I were you, I'd save the mommy card for later on when you're really pregnant and when you actually have the kid."

I can feel my face grow uneasy, but I nod. "Okay."

I leave his office and head for the stairs to go home. Home being Laura's room. The worker's are all in their quarters for the night. That reminds me that I need to talk to Marisol. I walk over towards the section of the quarters where she'd be and find her brushing out her hair with a boar bristle hairbrush.

"Hi." I barely rasp.

She glances my way and rises from her mattress. "Hey."

"Have you been to the doctor's?"

Marisol tosses her brush down into her laundry basket. "If you're talking about the ultrasound, then yeah; I got one."

I read some unsettlement in her cool demeanor. "And?"

She looks me over, before sighing and reaching down into her basket. She pulls out a round cookie tin, opens it up, and brings forth a little thin paper that's unmistakably the sonogram. "Check it out." She says soberly.

I take it and look down at...well, I'm not sure what I'm staring at exactly. Marisol is about eight or nine weeks along now, but I can't make out what's on this sonogram. The image has two oblong shapes that look like a pair of eyes. "Don't take this rudely," I finally look back at her, "but what am I looking at?"

She snorts, annoyed and rolling her eyes as she grabs it from me. "Twins, estúpida."

My eyes widen. _Oh, duh._ "Wow," I clear my throat, "That's...great."

Marisol scoffs; bringing her hair to the side where she begins to braid it. "Yeah, I guess."

"You're not excited?"

She shrugs. "It's not that I'm not happy, or whatever, but I've already had plenty of heartburn thinking about how I'm going to take care of me and one child on my own. Now, I have _two_ kids to lose sleep over."

"Oh," I scratch my nose, "I guess that will be tough."

She sniffs. "Hey, you wanna take a walk or something?"

"Sure." I nod and the two of us leave from her quarter, heading towards the front.

"My dad was a twin." She tells me after a few seconds of silence.

"Oh."

"Yeah, my abuela said that her mother was a twin, too and that it skips a generation."

I open the door to the factory and let her go first. "And now you're having twins," I anxiously chuckle, "Its weird how those things work."

She huffs, walking down the concrete steps. "Yeah, no kidding."

"I saw you in the kitchens this morning," I recall, "Are you working there now?"

"Oh, yeah," Marisol turns until she's facing me, "Reed pulled me out of the mechanic's yard and put me on kitchen duty until I give birth."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," She scoffs bitterly, "He said that someone brought it to his attention that the fumes in the yard are dangerous and pregnant women shouldn't be breathing them in, or some shit like that. I asked who this mysterious good Samaritan was, poking around my business, but he told me that the guy wanted to remain anonymous and then told me to stop bitching, because he was doing me a favor."

"Hm," I ponder for a second about Negan being the culprit, but quickly dismiss that thought, since he doesn't even know her name and anonymity isn't really his thing, "Well, those fumes aren't exactly healthy to breathe in."

"Sure, but kitchen workers don't earn as much as mechanic's do, because apparently cooking food isn't a difficult skill."

I inwardly sympathize with her. "Have you read any of the notes I gave you?"

"Yes and I wish I hadn't, because now I'm even more freaked out." Marisol stealthily wipes a tear from her eye.

I wince. "I didn't mean to make you worry. I was just trying to help."

"No, I appreciate it and all," She kicks a pebble on the ground, "I'm just stressing out because of the twins."

My radio statics and all of the sudden, Dwight's voice joins Marisol and I. "We're coming up on the gates."

The two of us look over at the guards and one of them takes his radio from his pocket. "Roger that."

"You're really lucky, you know." Marisol passes me to head back inside.

I look towards her as she walks away. "How so?"

"Because at least the guy who knocked you up is willing to help you." She answers without looking over her shoulder.

I watch her disappear into the factory, before I blink again. I feel nauseous from the heat and my nerves, but I'm not ready to go inside. The sound of the trucks, along with the rumbling of one or two motorcycles, heralds the arrival of the twenty or so that went to some random outpost today. When I can see the trucks, I go over to the steps and sit down.

Three trucks pull over to the side where they usually do when there's a delivery and a mess of Saviors unload, before the drivers continue to the back of the factory to park. Dwight, who evidently was not one of the motorists, hops out of a truck with, surprisingly, both Hal and Laura shortly behind him. I suddenly get a protective flutter of anger over Hal being outside the Sanctuary.

Hal hasn't been outside these fences since he was brought here a few months before me and frankly, I'd prefer that it stay that way. I mean, Hal can make his own decisions and I know what it's like to want to leave the harsh confines of this community, but I don't like the possibility of Hal running into danger out there. Hate to say it, but living is more likely in here than out in the world.

Him and Laura are talking to each other with sweet little smiles on their faces. I have half a mind to go over there and mother hen the hell out of Hal, the way he does to me whenever he disapproves of something I've done. But, I don't since it seems like those two are quite taken with each other at the moment and I shouldn't put a damper on that. Instead, my eyes drift to Dwight, who's talking to some guy. What he's saying, I can't tell from here, but I can tell by the authoritative sound of his voice that he's ordering the Savior to go do something. The guy nods his head after Dwight's done talking and then promptly stalks off to whatever task Dwight's set him out to do. Almost immediately afterwards, Dwight looks my way and halts when our eyes meet.

I stand up from the step and resist the urge to pick my thumb. Dwight briefly glances at someone who appears to ask him something and nods, before returning his attention towards me. He walks my way and I can practically hear my heart thudding in my ears.

"Hey." He shyly grins.

"Hey," I nervously smile back, "You weren't lying."

"Huh?"

I point to the sun that's just starting to dip downward. "You said you'd be back before sundown. You're right on time."

"Oh," Dwight lightly chuckles, "yeah, well, I was hoping to be done earlier, but that didn't end up happening."

I smile and awkwardly step aside when three Saviors come up the stairs. "I didn't know Hal was allowed to go."

Dwight looks back towards Laura and Hal, who hangs back to chat with Laura as she smokes. "Are you telling me he didn't give you the permission slip to sign?"

I scoff, humored at his attempt at a joke. "Ha-ha," I smirk, almost forgetting my troubles, "I just didn't know he was going."

He just smiles. "Um, do you wanna maybe come back to my place and... hang out for a while?"

I nod, perhaps too quickly. "Yeah, sure."

Dwight nods as well. "Alright, cool," He taps the side of his leg, "Would you mind if I smoked real quick? You could wait for me inside my room, I don't mind."

"Oh, okay, yeah." I turn around and go inside.

As I head towards Dwight's room, I pass two guys that just came back from the outpost. They both smirk plainly as I walk by and I return the courtesy, before turning down the hall.

"That's the one, right?" I overhear one of their voices murmur. "She's the one that was fucking Dwight, then married Negan, and is now back to fucking Dwight?"

I want to scoff, but that would give me away. "Yeah, that's her." The other confirms.

"Huh," Asshole One responds, "She's kind of cute, I guess. If you like girls with shrapnel stuck in their face." _My nose ring?_ I self- consciously touch the ring hooked on my left nostril. I like my nose ring.

"Nah, she's not all that," Asshole Two scoffs, "Plus, she's such a fickle bitch. She bounces around like a goddamn pinball."

"Yeah, I heard she's pregnant."

"My point exactly. She got herself pregnant and now has Dwight trapped." The striking of a lighter comes before the small scent of marijuana. "She probably doesn't even know who the father is, but figures D's more easier to pull the wool over."

The other jerk chuckles. "Yeah, I'm sure Negan saw right fuckin' through her."

"If I were Dwight, I'd kick her skank ass to the curb and leave her to her own devices."

"Well, maybe he wants to be a dad."

"In this world? He'd have to be fucking insane. Especially with that dysfunctional whore as the mother." The two laugh to themselves and I continue my journey to Dwight's room, after having heard enough. Dysfunctional? I guess that wasn't too far off the trail.

I'm somewhat impressed that Dwight's room is tidier than it was a week ago. It reminds me of what it looked like before I married Negan. The bed's made, but not as rigidly like it's not being used. More like the quilt, that's still technically mine, is just hastily covering the sheets that are mine as well.

I glance over at the fridge where magnets hold up the sonogram and old appointment schedule. I should make him a more accurate copy. My feet carry me to the fridge and I gaze intently at the sonogram. A melancholy ache forms in me as I study the image of my baby. The cynicism that typically holds hands with my ever-lingering anxiety creeps around in my brain, assessing and reassessing the bitter reality of my predicament. Negan might be right.

I remove myself from that spot and sit down in the armchair with my hands crossed. I place them gently on my thighs and soothingly begin to slide them back and forth. However, like most times I try to calm myself, I end up crumbling and crying into my hands. How can this be? I don't care how hard Negan thinks he's trying with me, I don't want to be with him. Our baby would be just another possession to obtain, as well as a pawn he'd use to keep me on my best behavior, if he kept me around at all that is.

"Nan?" I look up and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand as Dwight closes the door. His face shows sincere concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm okay." I take two tissues from a box he extends to me.

"Then why are you crying?" Dwight examines me with his eyes. "Did the appointment go over okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I dry my eyes with the tissue, "Everything's fine. Its just hormones." I try to brush it off with a soggy chuckle.

He doesn't look convinced, but he sighs and nods anyway. "Okay, if you say so."

I stand up to toss my tissues in the trash. "Wanna play chess?"

"Yeah," Dwight goes over to the fridge, "Do you want anything to eat, or drink?"

"Um, could I get some water, please?"

"Sure," He says, "I've got some left over spaghetti, if you want-"

"Yeah, I'll eat it." I sniff and smile at his suspicious face. With his back turned, I take several quiet, deep breaths to settle down. "Hey, you know what? The last time we played, you beat me and never cashed in your winnings."

"Yeah, I did," Dwight claims behind me, "I asked you about your boyfriend and you told me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess that counts."

He comes over and hands me a bowl of spaghetti. "So, what happened at the doctor's?"

I watch him sit down on the bed. "The doctor said that everything looks good so far."

"Cool," He nods as he sets up the board, "So, I'm guessing he took another ultrasound?"

I peer down at the spaghetti in my lap. "Yeah, but Negan took it."

Dwight ceases for a second, before continuing to stick the pieces in their places." He was there?"

"Mhm." I nervously look up at Dwight.

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Nan."

I tiredly smile, looking at the chessboard. "Best two out of three?"

 **...**

I'm woken up by the sound of the door closing. I stiffly turn over and spot Laura attempting to come in as noiselessly as possible. As soon as she sees that I'm awake, she rolls her eyes.

"Shit, " She utters under her breath, while treading over her armchair, "Hey."

"Morning," I roll the aches out of my shoulders, "I didn't hear you come in last night. "

Her cheeks blush a little as she puts her hair up. "Uh, yeah, I...slept somewhere else last night."

I smile to myself, knowing where she was last night. "Oh, okay. Want some coffee?"

"Yeah."

The day goes on like any other. I make my rounds to all the places around Sanctuary that I usually make. Not to brag, but I'm really good at my job. I think I hit every mark around the same time every day, sometimes earlier, which makes my day so much easier. Around one, I go back to Laura's for lunch. However, as I come up on the door, I hear talking from within. Laura, obviously, and how could I not recognize the voice of someone who use to live three feet away from me. That, and Hal's the only person here with a British accent, so I think its safe to say he's the one she's talking to in there.

They sound like their just having a conversation, but I back off anyway and decide to scavenge for food elsewhere. Maybe I could get something from Hal's room; he won't care. I open the door to his room and enter, going straight for his fridge. I find some canned tuna and pickles, so I decide to make a sandwich.

I eat the sandwich on my way down to the main floor with my clipboard in one hand. While walking down the stairs of the catwalk, I hear what sounds like someone in trouble. I curiously look around, but see everyone on the factory floor is working. A few workers and Saviors tilt their heads ever so slightly to the side, as if to peek at the distress that they can evidently hear, too, so I know I'm not hallucinating. As I walk the floor, I scan the rows of curtains, bed sheets, etc. that thinly separate the rest of the factory from the quarters. What are clearly the gasping grunts of someone getting a boot to the stomach, or ribcage grows closer and closer.

I stop and step to the side by a structural beam when I find what I'm looking for, unfortunately. Negan's standing right outside the quarters, specifically where a sheet partition is pulled to the side, so that he can witness what he's inarguably ordered to happen with Lucille resting on his shoulder. I can't see the actual beating of worker 63, but the sun from the windows creates three silhouettes stomping on a fourth on the ground below them, as his arms shield his head. Negan just stands there and watches, like he did when he had three Saviors kick the hell out of Dwight not too long ago.

The brutality turns my stomach and I shrink back to leave this horrific beating, as well as to avoid having to speak to Negan should he see me. I don't have to ask what 63 did to know that he doesn't deserve that. My eyes, yet again, start to tear up and my lip quivers as I stalk off to be alone. I make my way back to Laura's room, but upon hearing something soft, but non-conversational, I whimper and turn back to go to Hal's room. I cover my eyes as I hurry as concisely as I can. Right as I turn the corner, I collide into someone and flinch when I feel two hands steady me.

"Are you alright?" Dwight asks with panicked concern in his tone.

I brush a teardrop from my wet eyelashes. "Um..." More tears flow, "No, I'm not."

He looks bewildered and unnerved. Dwight looks over his shoulder. "Come on."

I follow him back to his room and go inside with him. A crate of unfolded laundry occupies the chair, so I hesitate, looking for a place to sit.

Dwight pours some water into a black mug and glances towards me. "Just sit on the bed."

I nod demurely and sit, distraughtly crying some more. Dwight hands me the mug and I sip some water from it. "Thank you," I sniff.

He stands in front of me, studying my pitiful state. I don't look back at him, because just the thought of it makes a new wave of tears surge in my eyes, causing me to try to sniff them back. "What's wrong, Nan? And don't say nothing."

I grip the mug with two hands. "Harlan told me that there's a good chance that I might not be as far long as I thought."

"How far along did he say you were?"

A tear drops on my leg, creating a wet spot on my jeans. "He won't say for sure, because he said trying to determine between two weeks is difficult. But, he also said that I can't rule out the possibility of being eleven weeks."

"Oh." Dwight nods, scratching the side of his head.

My eyes shut and I bawl into my hand. "I'm sorry!"

"About what?"

"For putting you through this whole fucking thing!" I muster the courage to look up at him. "I was so sure that there was no chance of it being his and... I was so stupid, but I just really wanted it to be yours and not his." I shamefully put my head back in my hand. "Why can't my life ever be easy?"

The bed dips a little right next to me and I hear him breath out. "Nan, we-"

"I'm sorry, Dwight," I unknowingly interrupt, "I keep making mistakes and always end up hurting people who don't deserve it." I grab a tissue from the box on the end table. "What am I suppose to do? I just saw him let three men stomp a worker to a pulp. How can I have his baby? I won't ever be free of him and... and what kind of life will my child have? I don't want it to be like him, but I won't have a choice, because he can do whatever he wants."

A hand gingerly touches my back. "It's okay, Nan."

"No, it's not! I'm not okay, Dwight. I am not alright!"

Dwight's other hand gently takes my wrist and brings my hand away from my face. I look perplexingly at him through leaky eyes. He doesn't seem to be on my level and he should be. "Nan, just because you might be eleven weeks instead of thirteen, doesn't mean that it's Negan's."

"But Dwight, I-"

"Stop for a second and listen," He tells me and so I wait to hear what he has to say, "I know you thought it must've happened that one night, because I panicked, but that doesn't mean that's when it happened."

"I know, but Dwight it-"

"It made more sense to think that?" He pretty much takes the words from my mouth, so I nod my head. "Well, maybe it did, but maybe not, right?"

My throat constricts and I uncontrollably whine before answering. "Mhm."

"Nan," The sound of his voice calls for me to glance back his way, "We had sex two days before you married Negan. So, if it didn't happen two weeks before that, then it could've happened-"

"Two days before..." I conclude with a croaky rasp, "which would mean that the baby could still be yours."

"Right." He nods, slightly rubbing my back.

I lick my dry lips as I come to this epiphany. Of course, how could I forget that? I practically flung myself at him, half naked, and he thought I was running a fever. I gaze into his rational eyes. "I didn't think about that, but it does make sense."

"Yeah," Dwight agrees under his breath, brushing a knuckle just under my left eye, "Don't cry, Nan."

"But, what if-"

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, alright?"

I nod and try to clear my tears with the backs of my hands, but I've worked myself up too much, despite being reassured by Dwight having no doubt. Without fully thinking, I lean towards him and he lets me put my head against his shoulder. The hand on my back slides to my arm.

"Thank you." I rasp, quietly sobbing. He pats my arm twice for good measure.

 **... Four Weeks Later...**

"Maybe I should just evict you and take my room back." I tease.

"Fuck off," Hal chuckles as we walk together through the factory, "You gave up ownership when you decided to marry for wealth."

"Go to hell." I snicker as I elbow him. "I just think that if you and Laura are gonna be spending time together, then I should move into my old room, so that I won't be in anyone's way."

"Uh, right, except we're taking things slow, unlike someone I know."

"Slow, Hal, is waiting a while until you-"

"You know, I'm not comfortable having this sort of talk with you," He scoffs, "Her and I are friends and we like being just that."

"I see." I brush some crumbs off my little bump.

"When's your next check- up?"

"At 18 weeks." I reply, reaching my hand into the bag of honey mustard pretzels I'm carrying. Funny, I always hated the taste of honey mustard pretzels, but when Hal opened the bag, letting the bold aroma waft over, I kind of ended up taking over what was actually his bag.

"Isn't that a week from now?" Hal takes a few pretzels.

"Maybe." I chew as we turn down the hall.

"Is Dwight gonna go with you?" He crunches the pretzels with his mouth closed.

I lick the dust off one before eating it. "Um, I don't know. Probably not."

"What's with that?" Hal scoffs, reaching into the bag again. "Doesn't he want to, I don't know...be part of all that?"

Hal pretty much suspects that Dwight was lying about Carson, but I still haven't told anyone about Dwight's reason for not going to my last two appointments. Doing so would involve revealing that he did in fact lie about Carson letting Daryl out and I distinctively remember what Negan said would happen if he found out that Dwight was deceiving him. "Yeah, he does, but it's...it's complicated."

"Complicated? We all know what that means." Hal licks the seasoning off his fingers.

I roll my eyes with a small grin. "It's not like that, Hal. Trust me, I don't have the energy to waste time on a flaky guy nowadays. Besides, him and I have really been doing well."

We really have. The last four weeks have been a breeze ever since I left his room that afternoon after pulling myself together. Dwight and I speak to each other daily and not just a passing hello in the hallway. We've eaten a lot of meals together and sometimes we watch T.V. or, play chess, cards, or something else together. It's really nice.

"I sure hope so," He snickers, "Is the doctor gonna be able to tell you if it's a boy, or girl?"

"Yeah, if the baby's in the right position."

Hal stops at his door. "Well, fingers crossed then, eh?"

I chuckle; crossing two fingers that are coated with honey mustard seasoning. "Fingers crossed."

 **...**

"Nan!"

I narrowly open my eyes upon being shaken awake. "What is it?"

"Wake up!" Laura urges, rattling me by the shoulder some more. "You need to wake up!"

I sit up, rubbing a knuckle in my eye in the dark. A strange siren I've never heard before wails faintly from the outside. "What's that sound?"

Laura pulls her boots on. "It means there's a security breech."

I furrow my eyes at her. _What?_

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Hope this week's chapter was enjoyable.**

 **: I'm happy you liked chapter 34 and like Nan's little hints about "Slutty Mcdouchebag Yancy" to Negan. LOL! Laura's definitely behaving weird and there are some little clues as to why in, I think, two previous chapters, but all will be revealed in a future chapter.**

 **FriendsWithTheMonster: I totally respect your opinion about Nan/ Negan vs. Dwight/ Nan. Negan and Nan have some very minor similarities in common, which one of them (But who?) is more aware of than the other. As paternity goes, I'm still leaving it up for grabs at this point.**

 **CLTex: I'm also glad that D/N are working things out. And as for Negan...well, I love his character in both the comic and the show. I think he's hilarious, yet obnoxious and I love it and I think he's perfect for keeping things on edge for D/N's progress.**


	36. I Missed You

**Content Warning: mentions of rape and violence.**

* * *

The alarm reverberates in what sounds like a full, continuous circle out in the hall as Laura does the belt to her pants. She doesn't seem scared or unnerved by the wailing noise, just annoyed because it woke her up.

"Where are you going?" I nervously ask her.

"Security breech means that there's likely an intruder, which means I have to do my part in finding and apprehending them." She answers as she pulls her hair back. There's a brief pound on the door as footsteps briskly walk by on the other side. I know it's just someone giving us a heads up, or call to action, but it still makes fear encroach on me. "Hopefully that fucking alarm will shut off soon."

I rise up from the mattress, pulling my hair back as well. "Want me to come with you?"

Laura's eyes dart over to me and she looks as if she's going to ask if I'm joking. "Uh, no," She shakes her head, "You're gonna stay here and not leave until the situation is under control."

"But I can help."

"Don't be stupid, Nan," Laura clips her holster on and then walks over to her cubby shelf, "You're pregnant and if you got hurt or killed, it'd be my fault and I don't know what would be worse; the guilt I'd feel, or the pain from getting clubbed with Lucille." She pulls out a small revolver and hands it to me. "Remember that you shoot with your left hand and if someone who isn't us comes in, shoot them."

I look at her with distress. "Yeah, okay."

Laura nods and then is out the door with no fear. When the door closes, I exhale sharply and begin to pace among the siren. I swear the noise is the equivalent of a throbbing headache. I wonder how serious the situation is, how many intruders there are, and just how much damage they could potentially do before they're caught. It doesn't take me long to become sick with worry about Hal, as he sometimes does perimeter rounds at night. Oh god, what if he's hurt...or worse? I take deeper breaths to stop myself from having a panic attack and from throwing up.

And what about Dwight? Something bad can just as likely happen to him, too. I glance at the clock at reads one a.m. and my mind starts to drift to when I saw Dwight last. It was early yesterday morning. I ended up sleeping over in Hal's room, because him and Laura where playing "Shot Scrabble" which is just Scrabble, but Laura found a way to involve tequila, and well...after a couple of shots, three's a crowd. Hal didn't have any more coffee left and so I made it the perfect excuse to go ask Dwight for some, knowing that he'd invite me to stay for breakfast.

I almost worked up the nerve to ask him about the letter I wrote to him weeks ago, when I was still married to Negan. I know I told him to burn it after reading it which if I'm not mistaken, he did, but I still wonder why he hasn't mentioned it. I know it wasn't the most brief, well- organized letter, but I was opening myself up to him, not writing the next great American novel. Although I didn't know then that I would leave Negan, I thought the letter would make us better friends, but it didn't really, even after I ended my marriage. Well, I guess it doesn't matter, since we're friends now.

What if he's hurt? What if he's... _stop thinking about it._ I sit down in Laura's soft chair to block out my unwanted thoughts, as well as keep myself from recklessly going out there to go search for Dwight and Hal. I mess with the hem of my shorts that I sewed myself after I cut pajama pants because of the heat. I tuck the string into the shorts to keep from pulling them apart. What if something bad does happen? I'd be absolutely racked with the guilt for not helping, or at least trying to help.

Right as I'm about to get up, resolved to leave the room, the alarm finally stops. Does that mean that everything's alright now? I can hear someone coming down the hall and so I go over to the door and cautiously open it, peering out through the crack. When I see that it's someone I recognize, I open the door more.

"Hey," I call to Ada and she turns around, "What's going on?"

"They got the intruder," She answers with a yawn, "She's being taken to the cells. Four people are dead." Ada continues down the hall to the third floor to go back to bed.

I enter the hallway with the revolver still in my hand and go down the other way, passing some people who are also returning to their rooms. I get a few words of information from their grumbling chatter with one another. Something about a woman cutting through the fence on the west end and making it as far as the east end of the factory. There's no light coming from under Dwight's door, but I still knock. Nothing. I open the door and find the room empty like I had last night. He probably left to go help with the security breach like everyone else.

I stand in the doorframe with the door almost closed, waiting for him, or Laura, or even Hal to come by. Come to think of it, maybe I should go check on Marisol. Whose the most vulnerable in these situations if not the workers that live out in the open? I shut Dwight's door, deciding to check on him later and head in the opposite direction of traffic.

"Nan!" I make out Laura up ahead and can see that she's not too pleased. "What the hell? I said to stay inside!"

"The intruder's been caught," I say as I gently push past some people, "I'm just going to check on my friend down in the quarters." Some Savior gives me a weird look as he goes by for calling a worker a friend.

Laura takes me by the elbow and turns me around. "She's fine, all the workers are fine, okay? So let's go back to bed and get a few hours of sleep before we have to get up."

I reluctantly comply and go with her back to her room. She groans as she closes the door, working out some stiffness in her neck and rolling her shoulders. After putting the gun back in the cubby Laura got it from, I sit on the bed with my hands wringing in my lap, as she gets undressed. Laura's body is far more tattooed than mine. Before I moved in with her, I had only ever seen the one on her neck and forearm, but now that I have seen her naked, I've discovered that she's pretty hardcore.

I take another deep breath and exhale. "Did you see Hal?"

"Yeah, he's fine," Laura comes over to the bed and slides under the blankets, "He was in the north end of the factory when the intruder busted in."

"Good," I fidget with my newly healed finger, "What about Dwight? Did you see him?"

"No, but he wasn't one of the guys that was killed, so I'm sure he's fine, too"

I nod and then get under the blankets to lie back down. "Yeah."

Laura shifts until her back is facing me. "Why don't you just go check on him if you're so worried?"

"No, I'll wait 'til morning." I turn on my side and stare at the door until my eyes close.

 **...**

 _The scene is so placid, it's almost too good to be true. It all went from utter chaos to serenity in a fraction of a second. I gaze down into the grave where my legs hang, trying to make out just how far down it is. I can smell the cold, wet earth; a scent that I've always oddly liked for some reason, even as a kid. Like when I would open my bedroom window after it rained and take in the smell of wet asphalt and dirt from the garden._

 _"Doesn't look too bad down there, huh?" I startle at the person that's materialized out of nowhere next to me. He smiles at me, before looking down in the grave. "Seems nice and cool and quiet."_

 _I glance back down into the hole. "Yeah, perfect place for a dirt nap."_

 _He snickers softly. "Or...the perfect place to spend the eternity as worm food."_

 _"Shut up, Charles." I roll my eyes._

 _"Well, isn't this prime real estate for people like me?"_

 _I look at him and he looks perfectly fine. The remainder of his arm that had to be severed looks nicely healed, instead of infected. "You don't look like you're ready to buy yet."_

 _Charlie's smile gleams my way. "I always wanted a place to call my own."_

 _"What about that townhouse we were talking about? We could go back. I bet the mortgage is nothing now."_

 _He laughs. "Yeah, I bet."_

 _An eerie sound breezes into the air, like a whistle, and I turn my head over my shoulder. "We could leave now," I push myself back until my legs are no longer in the below, "Wouldn't it be nice to go back to Philly?"_

 _Charlie doesn't move, except to glance at me. "Why? There's nothing back there for us anymore."_

 _"I know, but..." I cross my legs, instead of standing like I was planning to, "But we could build something new, can't we?"_

 _He shakes his head with a sympathetic grin. "No, baby, we can't."_

 _Tears blur my vision. "Why not?"_

 _"You know why not."_

 _The whistling sound is beginning to become less faint. "Well, then maybe we can settle here," I peer over to the deep grave, "in this...prime real estate."_

 _Charlie shakes his head again. "No, it'd be a little cramped with you down there."_

 _"You don't want to build a life with me anymore?" I sniff._

 _"Kind of hard to do when one of us is dead."_

 _"You look alive and well to me."_

 _"Yeah, but I'm not. I mean, I'm okay, but I'm dead. Very dead, while you are very much alive."_

 _I scan the woods for movement, because the whistling is getting closer. "So, are you saying we've grown apart?"_

 _"Afraid so." He looks out into the woods, but casually and not in search of the whistlers._

 _"Are you breaking up with me?"_

 _Charlie chuckles. "It's not you, it's me."_

 _More tears fill my eyes. "No more second chances?"_

 _"Nope," He reaches over and pats my leg, "but you'll be okay."_

 _"What do you know?" I acridly retort._

 _"Nan, what does your knee say?"_

 _"What?" My head turns in the direction of a loud, cool whistle._

 _"Looks like the cavalry's rolling in."_

 _My eyes blink back to him. "I don't want to go with them, I want to stay with you."_

 _"Well, you can't, Nan."_

 _I touch his shoulder. "Please let me stay with you."_

 _"No," He smiles, assuring, "You need to go with them."_

 _"What if it's a bad place where they take me?"_

 _"Do what your knee says."_

 _"What?" The whistling circles all around us and disorients me to the point that my senses start to dull. "What does that mean?"_

 _"I love you dearly, Anna." Charlie starts to ease himself into the grave and I grip his shirtsleeve to stop him._

 _"No," I suddenly feel weak as my vision darkens, "No, don't go." My grasp on his sleeve appears to be shallow and it turns out that I'm not actually holding onto anything. "Charlie, wait." He continues to smile at me as he sits on the very edge of the grave, looking back. Everything turns black and I'm knocked out._

 **...**

"Ow!" Laura grunts, putting a hand to her thigh. "You kicked me!"

I sit up in bed, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry," I wipe some sweat from the side of my face, "Bad dream."

"What time is it?"

I look over to the clock that tells me it's been four hours since all the excitement. "Five- fifteen."

"I'm guessing you're getting up?"

"Yeah, I am." I'm not going back to sleep after that upsetting dream.

"Okay, but keep it down, please," She pulls the blankets up, "And if I don't wake up at seven, give me a nudge."

"Okay." I gingerly pad over to the kitchenette and look for something to eat for breakfast.

We're running low on coffee, but for some reason the thought of a nice, piping hot cup of coffee with milk and sugar makes me want to barf, so I'm not heartbroken that there's not enough to make a cup. I glance over all of the food we have and the only thing that sounds good right now is some toast with over medium eggs and hash browns. Unfortunately, Laura doesn't have any bread, or potatoes. _Dwight has all that stuff._

I peak over at Laura, who looks like she might be asleep again, before tiptoeing over to my trunk and carefully pulling out some jeans and a clean shirt. Once I'm dressed and have tied my shoes, I quietly leave the room and tread as softly as I can through the halls. I don't hear stirring of any kind behind closed doors, so I'm assuming that most everyone's too tired to be early birds this morning. I didn't really do anything last night, so I guess my routine wasn't thrown off too badly.

When I'm at Dwight's door, I put my ear close and listen. All is quiet, but he could be sleeping, or just being courteous to his neighbors. I rap my knuckle on the door lightly so I don't make too much noise, but loud enough so that he can hear me. Nothing, again.

"Dwight?" I half- whisper, tapping on the door again. After not getting an answer, I open the door and am met with vacancy. _Where is he?_ I step in and look around, observing that absolutely nothing appears to be moved or changed since I checked yesterday around six. Now I'm really starting to worry. _Maybe he went to the bathroom._

I head further down the hall towards the bathrooms. I hear the couple that are Hal's neighbors quietly talking in their room. Everything else is so silent, that I can pick up on what they're saying.

"Don't say shit like that, Neal." Rachel murmurs.

"Why? I'm not torn up about it." Her husband responds.

"Because, it's not okay to rejoice in someone's death, asshole."

"It's not like I'm not dancing on his grave, Rach," Neal whispers, chuckling, "I just don't care that he's dead."

I turn the corner before I can hear Rachel's response. I'm hopeful when the gentle rushing of water in a sink comes from the men's bathroom. _He's okay._ The water turns off and soon after, a man exits, but it's not the man I'm looking for. It's this one Savior that lives up on the fourth floor. He looks half asleep as he uses his t-shirt to dry his hands. He ignores me as he passes.

"Hello?" I call out into the bathroom, but I get no reply except my own voice echoing off the walls. _Fuck._ I cross my arms and head back to Laura's. Where's he at?

Later on, I meet Reed in his office. Aside from all the chatter, everything seems to be normal, as if nothing happened last night. The workers are all getting up to work and the Saviors are all moving about in their usual fashion as well. Reed tells me to go find Keller to ask about the burning of the casualties, so I head down towards the basement. My eyes scour every face that comes into sight, looking for Dwight. But I come up empty handed every single time. Every minute I don't see, or hear him, makes me even more anxious than the last.

"Hey," Hal comes up behind me and walks with me, "Some night we had. Bloody hell."

"Tell me about it," I smile, "Hey, have you seen Dwight?"

"Mm, no. Why?"

I shake my head. "No reason. I gotta go down to the basement and trust me, you don't want to follow, so I'll see ya around."

"See ya."

Down where the incinerators are is where I find Keller and the four men who were killed by the intruder. The bodies are wrapped in tarp and sheets, but it's hardly funeral shroud and more because it makes it easier to drag them down here.

"Mornin'," Keller pours some brandy into a steaming mug, "Reed want to know about cremation?"

"Yeah."

He takes a swallow from the mug. "Well, tell him that I'm-" He stops mid- sentence as he peers over my shoulder and then kneels. I look over my shoulder and sigh as I get down on one knee as well.

"Hello, hello," Negan approaches us with Lucille lazily down by his side, "The incinerator almost ready?"

Keller stands up. "Yes, sir. I was just telling her that I was about to fire it up." I rise as well and am surprised when Keller lightly helps me up under my arm. I'm flattered and all, but I'm not that pregnant that I need help standing. It does make me wonder though if Negan will expect me to kneel when I am that pregnant.

"Good, fire her up and get 'em in. Make sure the fuckin' vents are open all the way." Negan orders, smiling over at me when he's done.

Keller goes over to crank open the shutter like vents that'll prevent the fumes from the burning bodies from aerating into the factory. I look down at the dead as he does so, ignoring Negan's presence. That's when I notice that one of the bodies that's wrapped in a blue tarp looks familiar. I squat down and peel back the tarp and am confronted with a disturbing sight. His eyes are closed, but his mouth is slightly agape and no longer holding a smoldering grin like it use to. A gunshot wound is nearly right smack dab in the middle of his forehead and I can see the bullet lodged inside. Despite that and the trickle of blood, Yancy seems somewhat peaceful, like he's just asleep.

"Tragic, isn't it?" Negan drably says, not wholly concerned. "I'm down four good men. Damn shame."

I stick my tongue in my cheek at his lack of true compassion for his fallen soldiers. "Yeah." I cover Yancy's face back up, feeling guilty, before standing again. "Only four people died?"

"Lucky for me, right?" Negan's eyes momentarily flicker behind me where Keller can be heard starting the incinerator. "That woman has quite the fuckin' pair on her, I'm telling ya."

"Who is she?"

He looks at me and furrows his brows, before chuckling. "Ah, hell, I didn't catch her name last night before I had her thrown in the brig."

"So," I startle a little, looking back at the incinerator that backfires before it produces flames, "She came by herself?"

"Yes, but whether she came on her own, or was sent is the bigger fuckin' question," Negan answers candidly, "She got pretty fuckin' far before she was stopped. What a woman."

I nod my head and bite the corner of my lip. "Where's she from?"

"Look at you, asking a million questions. Normally you avoid talking to me like you fuckin' avoid celibacy." He throatily chuckles, making me scowl.

"Never mind." I go to move around him to leave.

Negan holds Lucille out like a barrier. "Still can't take a fucking joke, I see." I just look at him, not amused, so he rolls his eyes with a smirk. "Alright, alright, our little warrior is from Alexandria."

"Alexandria?"

"Yep, Eugene identified her to be from that clusterfuck of dicks."

The heat from the incinerator radiates over and makes me instantly feel uncomfortable. "I have to get back to work." Negan looks me over and nods without a word, letting me pass. _Ask him about Dwight._ I cease mid- step upon realizing that Negan's probably the only one who would know where Dwight is, if he's gone somewhere.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" He calls behind me, while lifting one end of a body as Keller picks up the other. "One foot in front of the other."

I roll my shoulders and sigh. "Yeah, thanks."

By two o'clock, I still haven't found out anything on Dwight's whereabouts. I've asked about him to other Saviors and have even gone back to his room several times, but nothing and no one seems to be fruitful to my search. Tension makes my shoulders feel heavy and seeing Yancy dead certainly doesn't help the case either.

I can't help but feel like his death is on me. If I hadn't done something so petty like play on Negan's jealousy to get back at Yancy because he thought I was easy, then he might not have died last night. He liked being on the nine to three shifts and I took that away and inadvertently caused his death. Sure, Yancy was an asshole, but all in all, he wasn't a bad guy. He must have been whom Neal and Rachel were talking about this morning.

"Hey!" Reed shouts at me from across the factory, causing some others to look my way. When I look over at him, he curls his finger at me to come over. "Has Keller burned the bodies, yet? You were supposed to tell me as soon as it was done."

"Oh, yeah," I tuck some hair behind my ear, "He did it about four hours ago."

"Good and how close to being done are you?"

"I'm done." I hand over my clipboard for him to inspect. A cog in my head creaks forward a little. "Hey, you happen to know where Dwight is?" Aside from Negan, Reed is about the only person I haven't asked and he might know, if it involved using any resources.

He looks over from the clipboard. "Dwight?"

"Yeah," I mess with the finger that was broken, "I, um...I haven't seen him since yesterday morning and I was wondering if he left Sanctuary."

Reed raises a brow. "Well, if he did, I haven't heard about it."

 _Fuck._ "Okay."

He hands me back my clipboard. "Looks good." I glumly nod in response. "Hey, do me a favor and go to the east yard and see if any bikes are missing."

I glance up with bewilderment. "Why would any..." Oh, right. Dwight would probably take a bike if he left. I thought he was implying that there was a second intruder. _Stupid._ "Okay."

"Alright, we'll reconvene in two hours, collect all the point cards, and then call it a day." Reed walks off without a confirmation.

 **...**

The easiest way to get to the east yard is to go down pass the cells, instead of going outside and walking all the way around. For some reason, I feel slightly nervous to go down there. I can't say that I'm particularly afraid of the intruder that's locked away in a small, closet sized room, but my nerves still coil inside me as I make my way to the cells. _What is wrong with that community?_ Alexandria. They've been so cooperative the last few months and now this. Haven't they learned by now that it's safer to just comply?

After what I saw in that Polaroid, I don't blame the woman who broke in and mowed down four of our men, but doesn't anyone from Alexandria have any rationality? There will be heavy consequences for this. No one at the Sanctuary would even think to step a baby toe in any direction without Negan giving the word to do so, so what kind of leader is this Rick guy to let his people, let alone his son, roam around without a status of their whereabouts? Maybe I'm just a little frustrated right now, because I can't find Dwight and I'm really concerned. I guess I should commend them somewhat for being the only people ballsy enough to give Negan a hard time.

A whistle makes me groan inwardly. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. "Hey, good lookin', " Negan appears on my left, just as I'm coming up on the hall where the cells are, "Where ya headed?"

I glance over my shoulder, noticing another Savior trailing behind us. "The east yard to make sure the bikes weren't tampered with."

"Cool, mind if I walk with you? Ah, what am I talking about? Of course, you don't mind." He puts an arm around my shoulder.

I rub my index finger across my thumb. Shit, I'm going to have to ask him. "Hey, um, I was wondering if y-" I stop, both in speech and in motion as my eyes set sight on an open cell door. There's some talking coming from the inside. I look up at Negan who I don't need to point it out to, because his eyes are furrowed in that direction.

He takes his arm from my shoulder and walks forward, as does the other Savior, and I look behind me before following them. Oh god, what is this? Right as he gets to the door, Negan halts, standing by the wall right out before the entrance, listening. I stay about six feet behind the two of them, listening, too. A man can be heard talking and...wait, is that...Davy's voice?

Negan lifts Lucille and abruptly bangs her hard against the metal doorframe. "What are you doing?!" He asks with a faint humor in his voice.

"Sir," Davy says, obviously not expecting Negan to come by, "I was, uh, just-"

"I didn't tell anyone to check on her, so what the fuck are you doing down here?"

"Well, I just thought th-that, um...that I'd offer her some water." Davy stammers to explain and the burly Savior and myself move over to the other side of the hall, where Davy and the prisoner are in view beyond Negan's tall figure. A woman with warm brown skin sits in the corner of the cell with nervous eyes and a ripped shirt.

"You were offering her some water?"

"Yes, sir."

Negan chuckles humorlessly. "So, where's the fucking water at?" Davy opens his mouth to speak, but Negan doesn't give him the chance. "David, were you trying to rape this girl?"

"Wha- N-no, sir I-I wasn't-"

"Because that's what it fuckin' looks like to me," Negan states, putting his hand on the handle of the knife on his belt, "And isn't rape against the rules, Davy?"

"Y-yes, sir, i-it is." Davy's voice sounds almost like a whimper.

Negan looks back at me and the other Savior out in the hall with a slight smirk, handing me Lucille to hold. "Nan, Harry, what's the rule about rape again?"

"We don't rape." Harry and I say in unison, except I have a little uneasiness in my voice about what Negan's going to do.

"Motherfucking right, we don't," Negan looks back at Davy, "Its that fuckin' simple. We don't rape. It's against our rules and frankly, I wouldn't want to fucking live in a place where it fucking wasn't. Say it."

"W-we don't rape." Davy mutters.

"Good, good," Negan clicks his tongue in thought, before sighing, "Well, I know you know the rules, so I'm real fucking sure that you are aware of the consequences for breaking this very serious rule."

Davy makes a fearful noise. "I-I'm sorry, sir. P-please."

Negan appears like he's thinking it over, but my eyes move to his hand closing around the handle of the knife and before I have time to blink, he pulls it from the sheath and drives it through Davy's neck. Davy's eyes widen, choking and gagging on his own saliva and blood.

"Apology not fuckin' accepted," Negan says, sliding the blade out of Davy's neck, dropping his body to the ground, "And rules are rules."

My eyes feel dry from not blinking, stunned. Negan sighs heavily, which finally gets me to regain focus towards him. He's looking down at the woman who looks just as shocked as me, but in more of a confused manner. Negan shifts his weigh to one leg. "I'm sorry you had to see that...what's your name?"

"Sasha." She answers.

"Sasha?" Negan replies. "That is a beautiful name. Well, Sasha, I know that might have been unpleasant to witness, but I want to you to know one thing." He crouches down to eye level. "We are not monsters." Sasha just stares at him with skepticism and a little bit of fear. "Nan."

All my breathing gathers in my chest. "Yeah?"

Negan turns his head towards me. "Help a girl out and go get Sasha a new shirt, please."

I hand Harry Lucille and go off to Laura's room to find a shirt. I know I could just go to the commissary and get one, which would probably be faster, but I need to take a breather after what I just saw.

I basically run to the second floor stairs and once inside, I drudge up the steps, until I reach the halfway level. There, I double over, placing my hands on my knees and breathe laboriously. I think I'm going to be sick. Not from the gory end of Davy, necessarily, but by the lighter than air feeling I got once he hit the floor.

It feels like a combination of finally being free from having to worry about Davy and being on the verge of passing out. I am in no way sorry to see Davy go; he was dangerous. He threatened me on numerous occasions and I think he even threatened my unborn child. He also confirmed my suspicions of how vile he can actually be. But this sense of no longer having to keep my eye out for him comes with some other panic. Panic that I might have felt some sick satisfaction in seeing Negan kill him. _What sort of person am I for feeling like that?_

I get a hold of myself and climb the second flight of stairs to the second floor. I pass Hal's room and then stop halfway at Dwight's. _Please be in there this time._ I open the door and am disappointed. _Fuck._ I shut his door and trek on. Once in Laura's room, I fish out a white, long sleeved shirt that I never wear.

"We all have shit to get over." Negan's tone sounds serious as he steps out of the cell. He looks my way and grins, putting his hand out for the shirt. "Thank you." He tosses it into the cell and then closes the door. I feel light-headed and pallid, like I can feel the color draining from my face. Negan takes Lucille from Harry and glances me over. "You alright there, honey?"

"I'm...I'm fi-" My eyes roll back and my knees buckle.

"Shit!"

 **...**

Familiar voices converse in the background. My eyelids flutter as they try to close, even though I keep trying to open them. My right elbow stings and the back of my head is sore. I smell lavender, which Laura uses in a spray bottle to spritz all over the bed to help relax at night. She doesn't seem like the type of girl that's interested in aromatherapy, but it's nice, so I don't raise questions.

I blink a few times to fight the sleepiness that tries to win you over when you first wake up. I lift my head and immediately feel the lub- dub like pounding, which causes me to groan lightly. The voices that seem muffled stop talking.

"Nan?" It's Harlan. He comes into sight and looks down on me. "Nan, do you know where you're at right now?"

I look around just to be sure. "Laura's room."

A blaring light is suddenly flashed in my face and I wince. "Keep your eyes open, please, and follow the light." My eyes roll back and forth, then up and down with the light. "Do you know what day it is?"

I knit my brows and start to sit up. "What-"

"Please lay still, for a few more moments," Harlan instructs, "Do you know what day it is?"

I scoff. "It's Wednesday. The...twenty-eighth of June."

"Good."

I glance up at him, puzzled, but lose expression when I see whom he'd been talking to. "What's going on?"

"You fainted in the fucking hallway," Negan says with some amusement, "I brought you here and had the doc come and check you out."

I look back to Harlan with mild skepticism. "Fainted?"

"Yes," The doctor nods, "Do you know where you're at right now?"

I push myself up, troubling my one elbow. "I'm in Laura's room. You already asked me that question."

"Just making sure you don't have a concussion, which it doesn't appear that you do, so that's good."

"My baby?" I ask with a dry throat.

"Is perfectly fine," Harlan smiles, "You didn't sustain any serious trauma, or injuries."

My hand touches the back of my skull. "Then why does my head hurt?"

"Because you fell back against the wall and I couldn't stop your dome from smacking against it." Negan chuckles.

I'm given an aspirin and some water by Harlan, which I gladly take the pill and gulp down all of the water. "Why did I faint?" I've never fainted before. Passed out drunk, sure, but fainted for no reason? Never.

"Have you had anything to eat or drink today?" Harlan asks.

I think for a second and close my eyes, sighing. "No, I...forgot."

"Then maybe a little dehydration and hypoglycemia." He stands up and goes to the door. "I recommend maybe taking the rest of the day off, if that's allowed," He looks sheepishly towards Negan, "And eat something."

"Thank you, I will." I shyly smile as he exits.

My smile wanes when my eyes travel back to Negan, who hasn't left. My cheeks start to rosy up out of embarrassment from fainting in front of Sir-Has-No-Shame. Well, I guess that one time he lost his hard on kind of threw him off his cool, but hey, I didn't get to choose my mutant gift.

He has a seat in Laura's chair, which he scooted up closer to the bed. "You gave me a fucking scare there, sweetheart."

I criss- cross my legs under the blanket that was evidently put over me. "Thanks for...not letting me hit the ground."

"You are very fucking welcome, An- Nan." He smiles, putting his ankle on his other knee. "I hope I didn't give you too bad a fright over ol' rapey Davy."

"No," I firmly murmur, "I...I'm glad he's dead." I wiggle my nose, agitated with myself.

"Nan?"

I look back to him and see what appears like a glint of worry, or anger behind his sober eyes. "Hm?"

"I know you and that shitty excuse for a man had issues before. A fuck ton, let's say."

"Yeah?"

Negan gives me a careful up and down. "Would what he tried to do to Sasha be the reason why?"

I mouth an understanding 'oh', nodding and then shaking my head. "No, he didn't. But I think he might have." The thought becomes more solid to me after I say it. He very well might have. He could've in the stairwell a few weeks ago. Hell, that time he trashed my room in the middle of the night, sometime after I had gone to Dwight's, could've been another close call. "He threatened me on my way to my last doctor's appointment," My eyes peer up to Negan's, "He told me that I needed to play nice to avoid pissing off the wrong person."

Negan doesn't look happy. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrug, truly unaware of why I hadn't. "I don't know."

He sighs. "Well, I'm relieved to know that you weren't. Made me sick to think I might've overlooked something."

I fiddle with my finger. "Thanks."

"How's the broken digit?"

"It's not broken anymore, but it gets stiff a lot. Sometimes it only feels mechanical...I don't know if I'll play the piano again," Our eyes meet, "Not like I do that anymore, anyway."

"I don't know, seems like it could be in the realm of possibility." Negan looks casually around the room.

I huff softly. "Highly unlikely."

He chuckles. "Your finger will be fine and dandy if you give it some time."

I peer over to the clock that reads four on the dot. "I should go help Reed with the books." I start to get up and feel a tad woozy.

"Nah, I told Reed you were out of commission for the rest of the day." Negan stands up and moseys over to the fridge.

"I can't accept that." I force myself to get out of bed and look around for my shoes.

"Excuse me?" He straightens up from looking in the fridge. "I say you've got a pass from the, what, two or three hours you've got left in the work day and you're turning it down?"

"Reed already let me go early once," I explain, "I need to save my maternity days."

Negan laughs, pulling out two eggs. "Well, believe it or not, Nan, I have more authority than Reed, so you're not doing the books today."

He clicks on Laura's camping stove. "How do you like your eggs?"

I sigh, giving in to my growling stomach. "Over medium." I walk over to the cupboards and get out the remaining honey mustard pretzels. I spot the chocolate milk mix that Yancy gave me awhile back. I take it out as well, remembering that we've got milk.

"What an award winning meal you're scraping up there, Nan." Negan chuckles as he cracks the eggs.

I sullenly get into the fridge for the milk. "Yancy gave me this mix that everyone thinks is for hot chocolate," I scoop some of the powder into a nearby glass, "but it's for milk."

"Huh," He opens the cupboard, "What'd he give it to you for? As some cheap gift to get into your pants?"

I stir my chocolate milk. "Yeah, but I didn't know that." I leave the milk and my pretzels on the table and go to the door. "I'll be right back."

I don't knock on Dwight's door before entering, knowing that it's empty. I take a potato and two slices of bread that Dwight cut up a couple days ago and, disheartened, leave the room. I return to Laura's and see Negan sitting in the chair, cringing has he eats one of the pretzels.

"Jesus, these are fucking disgusting," He sets the bag down, "Your eggs are in the pan."

"Thanks," I get out a knife and grater, "You can go now."

Negan takes a sip from my milk and makes another face, before standing. "That's a little too rich for my blood, fucking hell." He picks up Lucille by the coat rack, astoundingly not about to stay just to spite me. " Well, I gotta go check on Sasha, make sure Davy didn't turn and eat her face off. Take care, mama bear."

"Hey, wait," I call and he glances my way, "Have you seen Dwight? I haven't seen him since yesterday and no one else has either."

Negan displays some mild annoyance in my question, but nods. "Yeah, I sent him to go out to this rendezvous point, where I figured Daryl might have gone to hide, considering it's empty majority of the time."

My nervously touch my bump. "Well, how far out is it?"

He looks me over. "Not like a day or two's journey, if that's what you're asking," He nonchalantly strides back over to me, "Afraid he bit the dust? That Daryl got the fuckin' drop on him?"

I don't let myself tear up. "Why are you looking for him? Daryl? He's been missing for months, now. Do you honestly think he's even in Virginia still?"

"I heard a rumor that he might be right under our nose and since he's still mine, I want him found and brought back."

 _Rumor?_ From Sasha, maybe? I sigh, letting my shoulders droop. "Well, have you heard anything from Dwight? Via radio?"

Negan shakes his head. "Nope, but Dwight's a big boy who take care of himself and I trust that he'll come back"

I nod, gloomily. "I'm just worried about him."

He makes a grunt like he's displeased. "Well, like I said; if he's alive, he'll come back."

I twist my mouth to the side to avoid pouting. "My eggs are getting cold."

Negan's eyes study me calmly. "Alright, I gotta go, because unlike you, I have shit still to do."

"Okay, bye."

He leans down and nicely pecks me on the top of the forehead. "See ya around."

 **...**

I head over to the cells around seven to try and slip Sasha a granola bar, since I know that prisoners don't really get steak and wine here. It's nothing noble, just what I feel is the decent thing to do, especially after what happened with Davy. I would bring her more, but I can't fit much under the door and I don't have keys.

She must be pretty formidable, breaking in on her own, but I know that I saw fear on her face. Natural, I suppose when you're locked in a cell, almost get raped, and then witness a grisly death. _What?_ When I come up on the cells, Eugene is already there with the door open. He turns his head towards my direction and timidly lowers his eyes. He says something to Sasha and then closes the door to her cell, taking keys out, and locking it.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Pardon me?" He replies, confused.

I point to the door. "What were you doing? Did Negan give you clearance to talk to her?" I don't mean to sound like a Savior, but another escaped prisoner is the last thing this place needs right now and Eugene can't be stupid enough to think he won't be immediately suspected.

Eugene gives me an authoritative look. "Yes, ma'am, I do have clearance to talk to my friend, by the man himself. As a matter of fact, I was sent to provide her with a meal, a blanket, and a nice pillow to make her accommodations more suitable. That being said, I think the real question is what brings you down here?"

 _Whoa._ I'm taken back by his curtness. "I..." I bring forth the granola bar, "I was going to give her this, because I didn't know if she was going to be fed, or not."

I don't want to seem cocky, but I don't think I'd get in trouble if I Negan found out. Not just because he apparently was going to treat her better than Daryl, but because I'm pregnant and he believes it's his. I wouldn't say I'm untouchable, but I am pretty secure, at least until I give birth.

Eugene looks down at the bar in my hand. "That granola is beyond its expiration date."

I sigh irritably. "I know, but it's just oats and almonds, so I figured it wouldn't matter."

He nods. "Well, as kind as that is, the prisoner is being well- looked after, thank you."

"Okay," I breathe through my nose, "Is she going to be okay? Like...what's going to happen to her?"

Eugene starts to walk, so I just follow him. "If she bats for team Negan, I imagine things will work out in her favor."

"And if she is still loyal to all your friends back at Alexandria?"

He doesn't look at me as he continues down the hall with me by his side. "You've been here longer than me, correct? I suspect you know, as well as I do, the repercussions of her actions."

I look down at the floor as I walk. I'm actually surprised that Negan would offer her a place here after what she did. "So, you were trying to convince to her to play ball?"

"I attempted to make her see our side of things, yes."

 _Our side?_ I scoff. "Well, maybe she can't forgive and forget all that's happened."

Eugene stops abruptly and faces me. "And what exactly do you figure you know about all that's happened between my former associates and Negan?"

I arch a brow. "I know that Daryl didn't deserve to be stripped naked and stuck in a cell with blaring music, and fed dog food sandwiches. He didn't deserve to be robbed of his humanity and treated like a slave."

Eugene stares at me for a minute, glancing down at my bump for a brief second. "Have a good night and please allow my friend some peace." He then stalks off without me.

I return to Laura's room, finding her eating dinner, and leave right after I collect my shower stuff. I bring along my radio, just in case Dwight tells the guards at the gates to open up upon his return. My shower's rather dull. I just stare blankly at the lockers that never hold anything other than dry clothes and towels temporarily for whomever's in the showers. I wash my hair and clean my body just like anybody else would and when I'm done, I stand under the stream until it stops. I then dry off, get dressed, brush my teeth, and go back to Laura's. Dull.

Laura's changing into the jogging shorts that she sleeps in when I get back in. "You need the doctor, or something?"

"What?"

She pulls a t-shirt with the same diner logo that's on Reed's coffee mug over her head. "I heard you fainted today and you're looking a little pale."

"Oh," I scratch my nose ring, "I'm okay." When I see it's eight- thirty, I get even more anxious, but I just sit down and braid my wet hair to the side. It feels like Danica just cut it, but it's getting so long.

There's a knock on the door and by the beat, I know its Hal. Laura goes over and answers it. "Hey."

"Hello," Hal peers over at me and smiles, "Hey, gorgeous, how was the trip?" Laura snickers into her hand.

I scowl at their mutual mockery. "Fainting and tripping aren't the same thing, smart ass. I was dehydrated and hadn't eaten anything all day."

"That'll do it." Hal chuckles.

I look him over. "Hanging out again?"

"For a bit, if you don't mind." He comes in and Laura closes the door.

"What, no booze?"

Laura shakes her head. "Nope, just good 'ol sober fun."

I pull on the socks I like to sleep in and rise. "Well, have fun."

"Where are you off to, Rapunzel?"

"I'm...gonna go to Dwight's room for awhile and see if he turns up." _Yikes, that sounds so pathetic._

Hal nods. "He's not turned up yet?"

"No," I meekly shake my head, "so I'm just gonna...go wait." _Stop talking._

"Alright, see ya."

I grab my book and leave to go to Dwight's room. I enter the room that's dark, going over to the stand lamp, and turning the knob that flicks on the warm light. I then close the door and sit down in his chair, taking in his smell that's still present and beginning to read, even though I'm sleepy.

I read pretty quickly when I put my mind to it, usually getting thirty or forty pages under my belt every hour, but tonight I'm unable. I can't help worrying about Dwight. I don't know when I started caring about him, beyond average human sympathy, but I think I really care for him. Like the way I care for Hal, except...I don't know. Obviously not in a fraternal way like Hal, but with just as much fondness and endurance of fondness.

Maybe it began that night I returned from Alexandria, or the horrible day afterwards when he was thrown in a cell. Or maybe, while I was married to Negan, as fucked up as that sounds. I don't recall a time when Negan and I were in the throes of martial obligation, which I'm sure he'd call marital bliss, that my head didn't draw back to Dwight. I wonder how furious Negan would be if he found out that vast majority of my climaxes were not entirely of his own doing. The man has multiple wives, so I don't think I should catch any flack for having thoughts about another man.

I'm not sure what to call this emotion I have for him, but it's potent enough to cause me to feel like I had to write him an unnecessary letter that opened me up to vulnerability. That was like pulling out bricks of my wall. It was enough to make me impulsively agree to moving in with him, twice, because I wanted to be with him. And yes, both times were failures, but neither of us seems daunted from trying to find a way to make it work.

When I finally lift my head from the book, I lament at it being almost eleven forty-five. Still, no Dwight. He's been gone for a full twenty- four hours and then some. _What if Daryl really did get the drop on him?_ I shake my head to banish the bad thoughts off. _He'll be okay. He'll be back soon._

 **...**

I don't remember my eyes closing, but I know I haven't been asleep for a full ten minutes when I hear the door creak close. The room's dark, because I had turned off the light around midnight when Dwight didn't show. My eyes spot a figure by the door, whose arm extends to the wall. The overhead lights turn on and I wince at how bright they are.

"Nan?" He says with a look of bewilderment. "What are you doing here?"

My eyes open instantly. I fell asleep with my glasses on, so I know my vision's not mistaken. I lick my lips, now fully awake. "Dwight?"

"Uh, yeah," He seems a little confused that I sound so surprised, "What are you doing here?"

I take my glasses off and curse myself for blushing. "I...I didn't know where you were. I didn't know Negan sent you on an errand and there was an intruder from Alexandria last night. She killed four people and...I couldn't find you and no one knew where you were, either."

Dwight appears troubled by my statement. "It was sort of last minute, I didn't think to tell you..." He looks down at his hands, "I didn't think I'd be gone this long. Sorry."

"I'm sorry if I intruded," I stand up from the chair, "Um, by just sitting in here when you're not here, but I...I was worried since you hadn't come back and so I..." I sigh heavily, "I decided to wait up for you."

He sighs, tired and abashed, and rubs the back of his head. "I'm sorry, Nan. I didn't mean to worry you."

I nod mechanically, before looking over to the clock that reads five minutes past two in the morning. "Well, you're probably tired."

"Yeah, I am."

"Okay, well, I'm gonna go so you can get some sleep." I walk over to the door that he stands in front of. I look up at him and our tired eyes are each other's for a good, brief moment. "I'm glad you're back," I rasp, chuckling at the fool I'm about to make of myself, "I...I missed you. That sounds so silly, because it's only been a day, but I...I did."

Dwight softly grins and just looks at me. I put my hand on the door knob and turn it open. He steps to the side so I can leave.

"Goodnight." I croak.

"Night." He whispers back. I enter the hall and wait until he closes the door before I move to go back home. A huge breath of relief unexpectedly exhales from me now that he's come back and all my bad thoughts can be quelled.

I silently open the door to Laura's room, but freeze up when I see both her and Hal sleeping in bed together with Hal's arm draped over her. Crap, what am I suppose to do? I gingerly tiptoe backwards into the hall, slowly closing the door without a sound. I huff and resign to go to Hal's room to sleep, yet again. For taking things slow, those two sure spend a lot of time together in one room. I'm happy that they seem to like each other, but at least take the slumber parties to the room that doesn't have another occupant in it.

I open Hal's room and flick on the light. The stripped mattress that sits on double-decked palettes perplexes me. I glance to the side and my eyes roll. _You've got to be kidding me._ Hal's sheets and comforter are hanging on clotheslines. I tread over and groan outwardly when I discover that they are still damp beyond ignoring. I shuffle out his door and go back from whence I came.

 _The light's still on._ I knock very lightly on the door. It opens a few seconds later and I see that Dwight's already down to his boxers and t-shirt. "I'm sorry, I know you must be exhausted, but I've been kind of usurped from my side of Laura's bed for the night and I was wondering if I could borrow a blanket."

"Uh, yeah, here." He goes to his closet.

I step into the doorframe. "Thank you."

Dwight comes back with a khaki green blanket that's neatly folded and hands it to me. "Sure."

I don't know what possesses me, but I bring it up to my nose. I bleakly smile at him, when I'm satisfied that it smells like him. I clear my throat. "Well, goodni-"

I'm interrupted by his mouth catching mine, tenderly, but passionately. I don't push, or pull; I just let his hands take each side of my face as he deepens the kiss. I drop the blanket and softly bring my hands to his shirt, slightly afraid he'll pull back the moment I touch him, like last time. But alas, he doesn't break away when I ball his shirt in my hands. We make out for a good few, but long seconds, before he steps back into his room, bringing me with him. Once the door's closed, I lean back on it and let him wrap his arms around the middle of my back and nape of my neck, which I mimic.

Finally, he ends the kissing and looks down at me. My breathing is soft and shallow, while a flush whirls into my cheeks. He licks his lips. "Do you want to go to the bed?"

I nod almost instantly. "Yeah."

Dwight nods in response and I almost flinch when I feel his hand graze against mine, clasping it. We've never touched hands before. At least not like this. He leads me over to the bed. Once we reach the edge, Dwight begins kissing me again, sitting down on the mattress. I follow him down and am only on his lap for a second, before he turns us over, so that I'm lying on my back with him over me.

He pushes himself up on his arms and gazes down at me. I almost shy my eyes away, but I've wanted this for too long to doubt anything now. Dwight looks over towards the door, before getting up and walking over to the kill the lights. I get myself under the blankets and anxiously wait for him to come back to the bed. He lifts the blanket up when he pads back over and slides himself under as well. His arms are on both sides of me as he hovers over me. Dwight looks at me and I pray he isn't contemplating how to let me down.

"You're sure?" He whispers.

"Yes," I nod my head, swallowing some spit down, "Are you?"

He brings himself down and our lips lock. "Yes."

I let my hands slide under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. I bring it all the way up, until he removes it himself, which allows me to lift my shirt over my head. Dwight helps me take it off, tossing it someplace else. His mouth moves to my neck, causing me to mewl, which I try to keep as quiet as possible. Next, I reach down and find my shorts and underwear, tugging them down awkwardly and it's not long until Dwight does the same.

Dwight sticks his hand under my thigh and brings it up, before I feel him enter me. Simultaneously, we let out hushed moans. He kisses me again, before lowering his head into the crook of my neck and gently thrusting into me. I arch my hips at the feeling and hook my arm under his, placing my hand on his shoulder blade, while the other snakes around to the back of his head. Dwight goes nice and steady, breathing against my flesh as he delves in and out.

I shut my eyes at the sensation and I sound like I'm near hysterics every time each moan, or mewl escapes my mouth. Despite going at an even pace, it doesn't take him long to get me where I want to go. My breathing becomes soft panting and I rise higher and higher until I fall over the edge. My whole body suspends for a moment, until my toes curl and my leg slides down. My mouth touches his shoulder, before I moan into his ear.

He grunts and abruptly stops. I kiss the side of his face, before he moves; pulling out of me. His head lifts back up and while choppily panting, he looks down below us and pulls up the blanket. My eyes flicker down and I realize what he's checking for and that it isn't there. Dwight sighs through his nose in frustration, before he opens his mouth again to regain his breath.

"It's okay." I whisper through my unsteady breathing. He looks down at me and I brave my palm to rest on the scarred side of his face.

Dwight sensually kisses me for the hundredth, blessed time, before rolling off of me and onto his back. We both lay there, now gaining better control of our lungs and hearts. I turn my head towards him and worm myself over, shifting to my side and laying my head down on his chest. His arm wiggles out from under me and I'm alleviated when his hand cups my elbow. It encourages to me to let my hand rest on his chest as well.

We don't utter another syllable. Our breathing returns to normal, before slipping under as we start to nod off. Dwight's breath washes over me and my eyes droop down; and I don't fight them.

* * *

 **Thank you CLTex, Skylar, Jofrench22, and FriendsWithTheMonster for your gracious reviews! I love hearing feedback. And a big thank you to all who read and enjoy my fic; it's so appreciated!**

 **That being said, I want to give you all a heads up about the week after the next. After chapter 37, which will be posted next week as scheduled, Save Yourself will be going on hiatus until October. Because this story follows the show and not the comic, I want to put a pause on it for now. That way I can sew in some of the show characters that I love, but otherwise aren't in the comic. Besides, I have big things planned for Nan (during and after All Out War) and her baby, so I don't want to just shift the story over to trail the comic, because I think the story would then have to kind go by a little faster than it usually does.**

 **With all that out of the way, I'd also like to point out that I am working on another Walking Dead fic that will hopefully go up the week after Chapter 37 of SY is posted and may likely be a weekly installment as well. It's set a year or so before the apocalypse and will also be a Dwight central story with an OC and, of course, I'm gonna find a way to throw Negan (and maybe some other characters) into the pot. I'll have title you can look out for at the end of next week's chapter, if anyone's interested in taking a peek at it. :)**


	37. We Had It Coming

A soft whisper of air flows in from the open window and caresses my bare skin. A veil of goose bumps covers my exposed back, down my arm, and even my breasts. My eyes open with a catlike leisure and I dreamily blink once or twice, before I recollect where I am. His body heat feels like a hot plate under me and my head and arm barely move with the rise and fall of his chest.

By the stillness of his breathing, I think he may be awake, but I don't want to move or speak to make him aware of my consciousness. Part of me's afraid he'll regret what happened a few short hours ago. _What did happen?_ I don't know what I did, or said to make him kiss me, but I wish I knew so that I could do it again. Dwight inhales deeply and lets it go through his nose in a way that confirms to me that he is awake. His index finger taps lightly against my elbow, as if he's thinking.

I wiggle myself back a little bit, so that I can look at him. The side of my face that was resting on his warm, bare chest feels like a band-aid peeling off, but I ignore the slight sting as I lay my head on his shoulder. Dwight's eyes look directly at me with a tranquil gaze.

"Hi." I rasp quietly.

"Hi." He returns with the same whispered softness in tone.

I sheepishly bring my arm back to me, hugging it to my chest, but I still keep my eyes on his. "Do you regret it?"

"No," Dwight answers with a sleepy shake of his head, "Do you?"

"No."

"I'm sorry about-"

"It's okay," I murmur before he has time to apologize for something that would just sound awkward to say out loud , "You got caught off guard and besides, I'm already pregnant, so I don't think we have to worry."

Dwight lets out a faint snicker. "Okay," He gently pulls me closer as he shifts in place, "Well, then I'm sorry about leaving without telling you."

I allow my hand to return to his chest. "Don't be sorry for that either. Why would you tell me? I'm not your mother."

"No, but if I let you know that I was going, then you wouldn't have had to wait up for me."

I smile sweetly. "I didn't have to wait up. I wanted to."

His eyes study my face as he smiles back. "Why?"

"I don't know," I shrug shyly, "I wanted to make sure you came back alright. I was worried something had happened to you."

Dwight's smile perks up some more and he turns his body more my way, lightly kissing me on the lips. He then returns to lying on his back. During this quick kiss, my head was moved to resting on his forearm, so I inch myself back as well. Dwight wraps his arm around my shoulder, which makes me sigh placidly.

"Why'd you kiss me?" I softly ask.

"Last night, or now?"

"Both."

Dwight exhales calmly. "I don't know," He answers, much in the same way that I had before, as his thumb caresses my arm, "I guess I didn't realize that you would worry about me, or that you'd miss me when I was gone."

I stretch my arm out across him and breathe. "I see."

He snickers again. "I know last night was a little sudden, but...it felt good to be worried about and missed."

I move closer, if that's even possible at this point without getting on top of him. "You mean to be cared about?"

"Yeah, I think so," He turns his head to me, "Do you care about me?"

My cheeks burn brightly at his question and I fight myself from looking away from him. "Yeah, I do."

"Are you crying?"

I shake my head like a child as tears collect in my eyes. "Hormones."

"No, it isn't," He protests, "Just tell me."

I close my eyes for a moment and feel the breeze cooling my hot tears as they roll down my cheeks. "I've wanted this for a long time, but I didn't think you'd want me after everything and...I'm just happy."

"Why'd you think I wouldn't want you?" His eyes look troubled.

I lick the salty tears off my lips. "Because you told me so."

Dwight does his trademark sigh of frustration and curses himself under his breath. "Nan, I was drunk the night I said that. I didn't mean that shit."

"It's okay, Dwight," I sniff back tears, "I understand."

"Understand what?" He asks with a bewildered annoyance. "You keep saying that you understand, but I don't even know what you mean by that."

"I mean that I understand that..." An aching lump in my throat emerges, "never mind, let's just drop it."

He rolls his body my way until he's on his side, which causes me to lean back a ways. "No, we're not dropping it, so tell me."

I nestle my neck in the crook of his elbow and keep my arm on his virile skin. "I understand why you pulled away that one night before I moved out," I look into his eyes, "When it seemed like we were about to kiss, but I just barely put my hand on your arm and you pulled back, saying that you couldn't. And then you said those things a few nights later and..." I shut my eyes and more tears gush out, "I knew you didn't want to touch me, or share a bed with me because I married Negan and it disgusted you!"

"Nan," Dwight shakes his head, "I-"

"No!" I wail, turning my face away. "I knew that's why you slept in the armchair and why you could barely stand to be in the same room as me."

He reaches over with his other hand and moves some hair that's stuck to my face because of the wetness, and then brushes it back in a kind, nurturing manner. "I'm not disgusted by you."

"Don't lie to spare my feelings," I whine with my eyes closing at his touch, "I'm a big girl, I can handle the truth. I'd prefer it."

"I'm telling you the truth."

I reopen my eyes and turn back to look at him with red-rimmed eyes of skepticism. "You are?"

"Yes, I am." He responds earnestly.

"How can you not be?" I ask sullenly. "I married the man who scarred your face and took your wife. And then he bragged to you about how I slept with him."

Dwight sighs, looking off for thought. "Honestly? I can't pretend like I wasn't a little disgusted by the situation," His eyes return to mine that are about to despair at his confession, "but not by you."

"What's the difference?"

His hand touches my skin, tracing a finger mindlessly. "The thought of you and him in bed together made my stomach sick, but the thought of you yourself, didn't and doesn't."

I take a deep breath as I think about his words. "So, I don't repulse you?"

"No," He clarifies with the utmost firmness in his voice, before kissing my lips again, "you don't repulse me."

I tenderly tuck some hair behind his ear, before putting my hand back to his chest. "Then why did you avoid me before?"

Dwight glances down and traipses his finger along the little fading scar from when I fell on my sabotaged mattress. "Because I let you down."

"How?"

"If I had just listened to you before, instead of shutting you down and kicking you out; you wouldn't have married him and he wouldn't have broken your hand and-"

"Dwight," I run my hand down his side in a soothing motion, "Stop beating yourself up for my actions. I still could've turned down Negan's offer, but instead I chose to fall back on old ground."

"I made a mistake, Nan," He claims adamantly, "I let you go. I let another person I care about walk right up those stairs to him." Dwight's fingers delicately press my flesh, before he follows the curve of my hip. "You were pregnant this whole time. If I had just listened, maybe we would've worked through things and maybe you would've found out sooner and...we wouldn't be in the shit we're in now."

"I know," I cup my hand to his face, "I thought of a million things that could've made a difference. I've spent a good portion of my life thinking about the things I could've done or said that would have made for a better outcome, but trust me, it doesn't do any good once things have already happened."

"I know, but I can't shake how badly I fucked things up with you, Nan. Not just with that, but before, too."

"Well, stop, because for the hundredth time; I've forgiven you."

Dwight's eyes seem to become glossy as he peers down at me. "When Sherry left, I...I shouldn't have had sex with you so soon. I wasn't ready, but I kept trying to forget about her. But I'd either be too upset to finish, or get mad when I'd see the hurt in your face because I using you. And then I'd just let you...I shouldn't have let you do that, but I was a fucking asshole. "

"It's alright." I brush a tear that silently falls from his eye with my thumb.

He clears his throat, getting a little choked up, I think. "In your letter, you said I was a good person, but I'm not. I use to be, but not anymore. The person I use to be would never have done that, or treated you the way I did. I let myself become one of them, far more than I needed to, and it's never given me a damn thing except insomnia and anger."

Now I kiss him softly. "You are good, Dwight. I know you are."

"I'm trying to be," He whispers with an exhausted sigh. "But I got a ways to go, before I get there."

We're both quiet for a few minutes, until I chuckle out of nowhere and he follows. Despite the heavy conversation, I feel silly and light, and I don't know why.

"Why are you laughing?"

Dwight shakes his head, minimizing his sleepy laughs. "I don't know. Why are you?"

"Because these damn hormones are making me a crybaby that turns everything nice into melodrama."

"I don't mind," He snickers, sniffing away tears, "we had it coming."

I chuckle under my breath. "Yeah."

Dwight's mouth claims mine, while his hand snakes around to my lower back. I put my hand on his ribs and bring my body wantonly to his like a magnet. His sensually deep kiss sends an aching pleasure through me, causing me to moan into his mouth. He breaks away and he looks at me with a breathlessness. "Do you want to move back in with me?"

I smile and a fresh round tears come up. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" He grins.

I nod my head. "Yeah."

We both laugh timidly, before we resume making out. I lay on my back and Dwight slowly shifts a leg between mine in the steady process of getting on top of me. Just when things are getting good, a knock on the door quells us. Dwight and I both look over at the door, knowing by the rhythm of the knock and the solid sound of what was used to knock; that it's him. We exchange a look, before he knocks again, only a little louder.

"Just a sec!" Dwight calls outs, looking hurriedly under the blankets.

"Dwight!" I hoarsely whisper, bringing some of the white comforter up to clad my breasts. "Don't answer it!"

"I have to." He fishes around for his boxer shorts, before pecking me on the lips and getting out of bed.

Another round of impatient knocking hits and I'm afraid he'll kick the door in at any moment. Dwight dresses into his pants and shirt with a quickness I've never seen before. I sit up in bed and nervously hold the covers to me, wanting to turn invisible to spare us both the ridicule that's about to be served up.

Dwight opens the door, but only enough to show him. "Yeah?"

"What the fuck was taking so long?" Negan sounds irritated.

"Sorry," Dwight scratches the back of his head, "I was asleep and then I, uh, had to get dressed."

"What do you sleep in the buff? You could've just come to the door in your undies, we're all adults here." Negan chuckles. "I want to talk about you about my missing dog, can I come in?"

"Uh..." Dwight stalls for a second, but the door is suddenly pushed open all the way and Negan and I immediately make eye contact.

His face becomes dourly sober as he walks in. "Well, I guess you would sleep naked if you had a good enough reason to," He says with some stale humor, "Good morning, Nan."

"Morning." I grumble, averting my eyes.

"Nice to see that you made a full recovery from yesterday." He says with jaggedness behind his tone.

"Thank you." I curtly answer, glancing over at Dwight who looks confused.

Negan gives me a look, before turning to Dwight. "Boy, this one, she really did miss you, Dwighty boy," He spins briefly back to me, "So much so that it would seem she gave you a friendly welcome home."

My cheeks begin to simmer with color, but I won't let him humiliate me, because I know my being here bothers him and that is a sweet victory. It sounds cruel, but I'm glad to have possibly ruined his morning this way.

"So, no Daryl?" Negan finally asks Dwight.

"No," Dwight responds level- headedly, "He wasn't there."

"Did you search the woods around the place?"

"Yeah, but there wasn't any signs of him."

Negan nods, looking back over to me. "Well, I've got my money on him being closer to home like the dumb fucking animal that he is," He goes to the door, "We're heading out in three hours, but there's a lot of shit that needs to be done before then."

Dwight nods. "Yeah, I'll make sure it's done."

Negan smiles. "Good boy," He glances back at me with a we'll-talk-later expression before going.

Dwight closes the door and looks over at me. "Were you sick?"

I shake my head. "No, but I fainted."

"What?" He comes back over to the bed and sits.

"It's no big deal," I assure him, "I forgot to eat and...got a little overwhelmed with everything that happened yesterday."

Dwight moves his head up and down at my response, inspecting my complexion. "So, you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lift my right elbow, "I got a little bruise, but it's not the end of the world."

He sighs, looking down at his wristwatch. "I guess I better get moving."

I reach down below the blankets in search for my underwear and pajama shorts. "Where are you going?"

"To Alexandria," He answers, going over to the fridge, "We got word that they're planning an attack, so Negan wants to go over there and stomp it out."

My stomach feels queasy. "And Sasha?"

Dwight fires up the camping stove, before looking over at me. "She the one that broke in?"

"Yeah, what's going to happen to her?"

"Is she alive still?"

"Yes," I relay, looking around the room for my shirt, "And Eugene said that Negan wanted to convince her to side with us."

Dwight shrugs, cracking an egg on the side of the pan. "I don't know, but we're probably taking her back there as a bargaining chip."

I let out a soft groan and move my neck to work out the kinks. "Why don't you stay here? You just got back."

He snickers, leaving the stove and walking behind the armchair. "I have to go," He picks up my shirt from off the floor and comes over, "But hopefully everything will go smoothly and we won't be gone long."

I take my shirt from him. "What does smoothly mean?"

His eyes blink from my middle to me. "Sorry, what?"

I smile lightly. "What does smoothly mean?"

Dwight smiles back. "Everything goes according to plan."

"Which is?" I step closer to him.

He seems to hesitate. "All of this ending today...or soon."

I'm still a little perplexed by his semi- vague answer, but I guess I can agree. "Yeah."

"Yeah." He quietly parrots, as his eyes drift back down to my baby bump.

"Do you wanna feel?"

Dwight looks back at me. "What?"

I motion my eyes down to my middle. "The baby."

He grows shy, but he nods. "Yeah."

"Okay," I faintly reply, before gingerly reaching over and taking his hand in mine. I slide both our hands under my shirt and let his hand gently graze my skin. He keeps his hand on my tummy without my help, but I don't remove mine from his. Both of our breathing stills, nervously, but also in simultaneous awe.

Dwight slowly brings his other hand under my shirt and touches the other side my pregnancy. A smile tips upward without his knowledge as he gazes down and it makes me feel good. After a couple seconds, he looks back up at me and I smile at him. His hands travel upward and all of the sudden, Dwight timidly pulls me into a hug. Another first for us.

I raise my arms under him and hug him back, not use to this form of affection from him, but I don't dislike it. I close my eyes and breathe in his air, as my forehead rests against his shoulder. He's wearing the same shirt and jeans he was in last night when he got in. They smell like smoke, sweat, and...tree sap, I think. He holds me and it seems like it's only thing I could possibly want right now.

"Things are gonna be different from now on," Dwight murmurs with a slight rasp, "I'm gonna make things better for you and the baby."

"Okay."

He finally pulls back to look me in the eyes. "I promise."

I smile brightly and nod. "Okay."

Dwight grins, before planting his lips on mine.

 **...**

A flourishing sensation showers me like an alleviating, summer rain. I don't remember the last time I felt so radiant and hopeful, but it's like nothing can bring me down today. It may be the one of the best days I've had in ages and it's not even noon yet. I can feel a pep in my step as I walk through the factory like I own the place and I have to stifle my smile to a plain line, just so people won't think I'm delirious.

Never in my wildest imagination did I expect Dwight to be so open and affectionate with me, at least not this soon. I don't know what happened out there when he was looking for Daryl, but it's as if he's found some new ambition. _He cares about you._ I thought I'd be the fool to admit that I cared for him and be left with some easy let down, but he said he cared about me!

"Hey!" I turn my head in Reed's direction and approach him.

"What?"

"Where've you been?" He asks pointing to his watch, "I radioed you twenty minutes ago."

"Well, I was on the fourth floor when you radioed," I explain, "It takes like ten minutes to get down from there."

"And the other ten?"

I shrug. "I went to the bathroom and got something to eat."

Reed shakes his head in disbelief. "Whatever, Negan's waiting for you in my office."

Cue the dreadful music. "What for?" I ask, although I can guess it's not work related.

"I don't know, but you've kept him waiting, so I'd hustle my ass if I were you."

I bite the corner of my lip, but nod. "Fine."

I drag my feet a little as I head to Reed's office. Why doesn't he just radio me himself? I'm really not interested in the same old back and forth we've had the last couple weeks. It's redundant, boring, and tiresome. I know he's going to bring up what he saw earlier this morning, because despite his easygoingness, I could see that he was jilted.

When I come up on the office, I can hear him giving out orders from a radio. I knock as a courtesy, before entering and find him behind Reed's desk. I also, to my surprise and dismay, discover Simon in the room, leaning against the wall by the window.

"You heard correctly, good sir," Negan says into the radio in his hand, while eyeing me, "I want the casket loaded up on the back of a truck and strapped the fuck down. So, get the fuck on it, please."

I close the door, nervous that Simon's here and that he's noticed the little curve in my profile. "Um...you wanted to see me?"

Negan sits up in his chair. "Yes, my dear, I fucking did... about twenty goddamn minutes ago."

"I had to pee." I keep my eyes on him and averted from Simon, who just silently stands in the room.

Negan smirks, humored, but not pleased. "Excuses, excuses, Nanette," He stands up, "All you seem to be made of is excuses, lies, and a nice ass. Walk with me."

I open the door and the three of us exit Reed's office together. Simon's oddly quiet for some reason. He's usually a chatterbox, not quite at Negan status, but right now he seems to be all serious. "Where are we going?"

"To the kitchens," Negan answers, snaking his arm around my shoulder like he normally does, "To go collect the grub I had the cooks make up for our guest."

"Why?"

"Because breakfast is the most important fuckin' meal of the day and it's a couple hours to Alexandria, so she's gonna need something to hold her over."

I nod, looking slightly over my shoulder towards Simon, who's just causally moseying behind us. "What did you want to see me about?"

We make it to the kitchens and Negan stops just outside the entrance, having me stop as well. Simon carries on inside. "I'm gonna go scrounge up some chow."

Negan watches him go in, before blinking back to me. "Why do you suppose I wanted to see you, darlin'?"

I fight the impulse to roll my eyes. "Because you found me in Dwight's bed this morning?"

"Were you naked?" He raises his brows and a smile spreads across his face.

"You know I was," I reply flatly, "Hence the blanket covering my-"

"Humble titties?"

"Yeah." I look towards the kitchens and spy Simon leaning against the counter, while Marisol stands on the other end and appears to be listening to something he's saying. "So, what?" I glance back up at him with a saucy brow. "You want to remind me to practice safe sex? Because it's a little late for that."

Negan leans back and laughs. "Ah, I love the gal you're shaping up to be. I take full responsibility."

"For?"

"For fucking all that mousy gutlessness out of you and bringing forth this," He wags Lucille my way, "This fuckin' tiger."

I cross my arms. "Could you just tell me what it is you want to say? I want to get back to work."

Negan gives me the up and down and his smiles lessens. "So...are you and him..." He makes a gesture with his hands, "fucking?"

"That's none of your business." I enter the kitchens and he follows.

"So, yes then."

"Well, obviously," I crassly retort, "Why else would I be naked in his bed?" I glance over at Simon, Marisol, and the other kitchen workers who all give me a collective look and I blush, realizing I was a little too loud.

Negan chuckles, before knocking on the counter at the workers. "Chop, chop." One worker goes off to some part of the kitchen I can't see from where I'm standing. "I'm gonna take a shot in the fuckin' dark and say you weren't until his return last night?"

"Bull's-eye." I answer dryly, which makes him snicker.

"Ooh, so you did receive him warmly." He smiles and takes the small covered tray that the returning worker brings over.

I walk with him as he goes to leave, glancing over at Simon, who appears to remain talking to Marisol. "I'm moving back in with him."

Negan flashes an unpleasant look. "Is that fucking so?"

"Yes," I nonchalantly watch some Saviors head to the front of the factory, "He asked me to and I said yes, since things are going so well." I don't mean to sound braggy, or like I'm trying to dig at him, but I am hoping he'll see that I'm moving on and drop whatever delusion he has of me coming back to him.

"Well, all I can is, " He stops in his tracks right before the cells, facing me, "enjoy it while it fucking lasts, because come...five or six months from now, life on Sunshine Fucking Lane may come to an abrupt halt."

I scowl. "Meaning what exactly?"

Negan shrugs, "You might have a hell of a choice to make. A choice that, while you'd think it'd be a no fuckin' brainer, might be a little difficult. A real heart wrencher."

I lose my scowl and grow a little nervous by his words. "What do you mean?"

"I'd love to stay and chat, Nan, but Sasha's been kept waiting for breakfast long enough, thanks to you, and we leave in forty-five," Negan smiles at the uneasy look on my face, "So, we'll talk later."

He heads down the hall towards the cells and I turn around to go back to the kitchens. Simon passes me on the way there and gives me a smug wink as he does, eating an apple. Once I get to the kitchens, I stalk over to Marisol, who's sweeping the floor with a morose look on her face.

"Hey," I go over to her, "Are you alright?"

She peeks over her shoulder at the other workers that are a good distance away, as well as the overseer, Owen. "You didn't tell me that Simon was coming here."

"I didn't know, I'm as surprised as you." I tell her, looking back at Owen, too. "What'd he say?"

Marisol sighs, focusing on her sweeping. "Nothing important. Just causally shooting the breeze like we're friends."

I cringe inwardly, knowing how friendly Simon can be when it's clear that the other person is uncomfortable. "He didn't bring up the baby?"

"You mean babies?" She scoffs.

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

She shakes her head. "I mean, his eyes gravitated towards my stomach when he was talking, but aside from that; nope." I myself glance down at her stomach that is slightly more noticeable than mine, since she's carrying twins. "He asked how I was liking my new position and then asked for some bacon and an apple, then went on talking about how he worked on an orchard when he was a teenager. I don't know, the story didn't really have a point, except that his first time was with the owner's younger wife."

I furrow my brows at her information about Simon. "What a weird thing to randomly tell someone."

Marisol looks up and quickly darts her eyes towards all the other behind me. "He, uh...always use to talk about stuff like that."

"Oh," I brush some hair from my face, "that's awkward." I nervously chuckle.

She shrugs her shoulder, continuing to move her broom. "I guess so."

I notice the time from the clock on the wall. "Well, I'll let you get back to work."

"Yeah, okay."

 **...**

Half an hour later, I head to the front of the factory to go record the sign- in sheet. I want to finish up my work as soon as possible today, so I can pack my things, move back in, and get settled.

"Hey." Dwight appears at my elbow.

"Hey," I greet back gladly, "What are you doing?"

"Heading to the front," He says with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, "Everything's ready to go, so now we just gotta wait for Negan."

"Oh, I'm heading that way, too."

"Cool."

We go together in silence, but a nice silence. Silence that can pass between two people without either party internally squirming for conversation. When we get to the stairs that'll take us up to the front entrance, Dwight allows me to go first and I feel a light hand briefly touch the small of my back with care. I have to take a deep breath to compose myself. It's really the little, subtle things that get me going.

The doors are propped open, because of the heat, so we both go out into the daylight. It's only nine and it's already like walking into an oven. Dwight and I both halt when we see a sixteen wheeler parked on the left side of the yard, with Negan, Eugene and Sasha standing on the back where a polished casket rests. Arat stands off to the side with her hands resting on her hips. Sasha's arms are folded and she seems to be confident and unafraid, unlike yesterday. Negan speaks to her and she speaks back, but as to what they're discussing is obviously not within earshot.

"What are they doing?" I ask, turning to Dwight.

Dwight has an uneasy expression as he looks that way. "They're gonna put her in the coffin."

"What?"

He sighs, reaching into his pocket. "Yeah, I know." He produces a lighter and pack of cigarettes.

"I'm gonna go record the sign- ins." I head down the steps and stroll over to Solara and Ada. We all give candid hellos and I look down at the sign- in logs to write them down. Yancy's final sign- in spurns me, knowing that there isn't a sign- out because of me. I tread back to the entrance without a goodbye to the guards.

"I know this must be tough, but I want you to know that I appreciate it." Negan says as I pass the truck. I side- glance towards him and Sasha. He sounded sincere.

"It's something I need to do," She replies.

"You don't actually have to be in the fuckin' thing the whole way there."

"It's cool," Sasha claims, "I was planning on sleeping."

"No shit?" Negan says, amazed.

"Yeah, I just want to go to sleep."

I climb the concrete stairs and see Dwight toss his cigarette on the ground, putting it out with his boot. "I'm trying to quit," He claims, clearing his throat, "it's harder than I thought."

"I know," I smirk, kindly, "The only reason that Charlie quit was because of the world changing."

"Yeah," Dwight nods, tucking his hands back in his pockets, "the one vice I never thought I'd have to deal with again. Turns out the cigarettes didn't disappear, they were just the first thing off the shelves when other people were scavenging."

I snicker, "He'd always keep a few joints in his pack and I'd always sneak one."

Dwight smiles at my random piece of information and opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a sharp whistle piercing the air. The kind of whistle a master would call his dog over with.

"Dwight!"

I peek over my shoulder and roll my eyes when I see Negan waving Dwight over. I sigh, looking back at Dwight. "It's time to go."

"Yeah." He replies, starting to head down.

I catch him softly by the sleeve and push myself up on my toes a little, kissing him tenderly. I lick my lips as I pull away, smiling up at his bewildered grin. "Be careful."

"Thanks."

"Dwight!" Negan yells louder and I know I've stuck it to him.

"I gotta go, " Dwight sighs, "I'll see ya later."

"See ya." I watch him go and pretend to be oblivious to Negan's existence, before heading back inside.

 **...**

I finish up my work around three and because Reed still needs another hour, since he's got more on his plate, I decide to move my things back into Dwight's room. Laura's folding some of her laundry when I get in.

"What's up?" She says, relaxed. "You wait up for Dwight all night?"

My cheeks rosy up. "Um, yeah."

Laura rubs under her nose with the back of her hand. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," I take up my hands together, "But...well, Dwight wants to try to live together again and I said I would."

"Oh..."She nods, glancing down at the shirt she's folding, "That's great."

"You don't mind?"

Laura scoffs, humored. "Why would I mind?"

"I don't know," I go over to my trunk to assess all that's there, "I guess it's a good thing for you. It'll give you and Hal some more...privacy." While the two seem to be going steady, I still don't really know how to quite phrase their situation out loud. Hal said they were "friends", but I sort of agree with Dwight when he said way back when that friends don't have sex. Casual sex with one person is a type of relationship, even if it isn't a serious one, but I'll respect their terms.

"Don't leave on my account," She replies, stretching as she stands, "I can always go to his place, if need be. You're not a cock block."

I snicker faintly. "No, I know, but I want this." _I do want this._

Laura puts her hands nonchalantly on her hips, as she watches me take stock of my trunk. "Alright."

I glance up at her. "Do you think I should give it more time?"

She twists her mouth to the side, thinking. "Mm, I don't know," She lazily shrugs her shoulders, "But you're an adult, Nan. If your gut tells you that it's a good idea, then you should go for it."

"Yeah." I murmur, going over to the kitchen cabinets. I'm not so good at following my gut. For years, it's never been hazy about what's right and wrong, but that's never stopped me from committing the latter. But this time around, I'm going to listen to it and it's telling me pass go; collect two-hundred dollars.

"Want some help?" Laura asks, pointing to my trunk. "I heard preggos aren't really supposed to be lifting shit."

I smile, chuckling under my breath. "Yeah, thanks."

The two of us carry the trunk on different ends to Dwight's room. We set it down by the bed where it was placed the last two times. Laura briefly glances around the room and I do the same. _Third time's the charm._

"Nan, it's Reed," Reed's voice comes into the room from the radio on my belt, "Head back to the office, so we can get everything done."

I hold the radio up to my mouth. "Okay, I'm on my way."

Laura scratches her nose. "Well, I'm gonna get back to my laundry."

"Thanks again," I grin shyly, "For everything."

"It's no big deal," She looks down at her boots, "I kind of liked having a roommate."

"I'll come hang out from time to time."

Laura nods and heads to the door. "Alright, see ya later. I'm gonna go finish folding my laundry and then wash the dishes Hal left in my sink, since he didn't have time to do them himself before going."

"Hal went with them?"

"Yeah." She gives me a bewildered look, like she doesn't get why I'd be concerned, considering everything always goes the Saviors' way in these situations.

"Oh, okay." I leave the room with her.

Reed and I finish the books around five and I volunteer to take the main logbook up top. Negan, Dwight, and the others that went along aren't back yet, so I know I won't have to deal with Negan and can just leave the book up there with the wives. Once I get there, I'm a little winded after having climbed the flights maybe a little too quickly.

I walk to the drawing room and knock on one of the open doors. The five of them all look my way. "Uh, hi."

"Hey," Danica smiles, "Long time, no see."

"Yeah." I timidly chuckle. I haven't been up here in weeks and thus haven't seen any of them in weeks, since they don't really wander down.

"Oh, wow, you're starting to show!" Hazel gushes, coming over. "How many weeks does this make?"

"Um...somewhere between fifteen and seventeen weeks," I inform, putting a hand on my tummy, "I think it's mostly the five extra pounds I put on, though. I've eaten a lot of potatoes and bread the last three weeks."

Hazel and Tonya both laugh. Frankie puts her knitting in her basket. "What are you doing up here?" She asks politely.

I reveal the book I'm holding at my side. "I'm just dropping off the main logs," I peer down the hall, "I figured I'd leave it on the coffee table in his room."

"We're not allowed to go in there when he's not in." Amber mumbles over on the loveseat by the window.

My brows knit and I look at the others for verification. They all have bashful expressions that confirm Amber's meek words. "Oh...is that a new rule?" I don't remember if that was a rule when I was a wife; I never really went in there unless he called me in.

"Well," Tonya clasps her hands together, "not really, but it's not like we hung out there before Negan made it an official rule like a few days after you left."

I nod thoughtfully. "So, should I leave this with you?"

Tonya bites her lips and turns to look at the others in question. Hazel, Danica, and Amber give shrugs, or uncertain glances, while Frankie inspects her nails. "Um, well...if the door's not locked, then I guess it'd be okay if you dropped it off in there."

"Okay." I nervously tread down the hall to the double doors of his room. I glance over at the drawing room and see Tonya slightly angled in observance. My hand touches the door handle and I push down, feeling the ease that lets me know that the door is in fact unlocked.

I open the door enough for me to slide in and scan my eyes around the empty room. It's rigidly neat, like no one actually lives in here. There's a faint aroma of scotch, but I don't see any spills, or broken glass. Hell, I don't even see an intact bottle. _Get in and get out._ I walk over to the coffee table and set the book down in the corner closest to the part of the sofa where he usually sits.

I turn to leave and that's when I spot the top drawer of his nightstand to be slightly ajar. _Don't._ I trek to the door, slowly, trying to convince myself not to be victim to curiosity. But, I go over to the nightstand anyway, perhaps stupidly, and carefully open the drawer. I'm surprised at what I find, although I suppose I shouldn't be.

The sonogram he took from my last appointment lies in the middle of the drawer. I take it up in my hand to look at it, feeling somewhat entitled in doing so, since it's technically mine. I have half a mind to pocket it, but what's the use, since he'll just pay me a visit to take it back? As I go to set it back down, I notice the embroidered loop that I spent a week or two stitching before I left him. I put the sonogram down inside where I found it and then close the drawer to how it was, before leaving his room.

"Hey, Nan." I look up at Danica as I come down the hall.

"Yeah?"

"How about I give you another trim one of these days?" She offers, "You could come up here, or I could come to you, if you want."

I know she's just being nice, but her tone is curious to me. Almost like she's being coerced. "Oh, yeah, that'd be great. I was just thinking my hair's getting a little long."

"Alright, just let me know." She grins.

All the wives are looking at me with small, welcoming grins on their faces and if I didn't know any better, I'd say something's up. "Well, I'm gonna go make dinner, so I'll, uh, catch you all later."

The clock reads ten to six when I look over at it, waiting for the water to boil. It's still light out, since it's summer and won't get dark until about eight -thirty or so, but I'm already so tired. Waiting up for Dwight and then not going to sleep until two in the morning, only to wake up around six really took it out of me today.

After putting some things away, I figured I'd make dinner before Dwight got back and we could eat together, before I pass out from exhaustion. I lie down on the bed and smile to myself. This is happening and I want it to. But what do I call it? The three of us; Dwight, the eventual baby, and I. What are we as a group? What do I call Dwight for that matter? My friend? My baby's father? My-

"We're a mile down the road, so open the fucking gates," Negan orders over the radio, startling me, "And make sure the fucking doctor's ready to earn his fucking keep."

 _That doesn't sound good._ "Copy that." One of the guards answers back immediately.

I sit up and reach for my shoes to put them on. I then turn the stove off and go to meet them out front. I keep calm as I navigate the halls, telling myself that everything's fine. Dwight said that they were going over to remind the people of Alexandria whom they work for, so everything should be alright, right? The Saviors always win; Negan always wins. That's how it is.

I can hear the engines of the trucks they took, roaring, as I make it to the catwalk. A few Saviors push me aside in a hurry to get outside. I'm out a few seconds after them and it's about that time the first few trucks roll in.

I stay at the yellow railing and wait for Dwight and Hal to get out of one of the vehicles. Some men hold their limbs with bloody hands, but appear to be alright enough to walk themselves to the infirmary, while one on the other hand is being pulled from the back of a flatbed, lifeless. As soon as the body is dropped on the ground, one of the men who pulled it out sticks a knife through the temple.

Finally, Hal's in my sights, nodding as Simon orders him to do something and then

sets off to do whatever the task. When I see Dwight, I start to go to the stairs, but he spots me and comes my way instead. His face looks somewhat troubled.

"Hey."

"Hey, what's going on?" I inquire, worriedly.

Dwight continues to walk towards the open doors. "We'll talk later, I have to get everyone on blue level."

Blue level? I don't know what that means. I know a level orange is when we're direly low on medical resources, such as when Dwight stole all the insulin and some other meds and ran off with Sherry and his sister- in law. "Um, okay."

He stops and looks at me, apologetically. "Everyone's supposed to gather out front, so just stay here and...and wait, alright?" I nod and he walks off.

 **...**

It took an hour for every Savior and worker in the entire community to file out into the front of the Sanctuary. The workers were all sequestered to the back by the gates, where the dead snarl lethargically at them. The heat is subduing because of the hour of day, so at least it's not too unbearable. From where I stand, I look side to side, front and back for Hal, or Laura, or any face that'd be welcoming to see, but the crowd's pretty dense.

It's intimidating to see how many Saviors there actually are in this factory alone. I always knew there were a staggering amount, as a whole, but it's weird seeing just how much of them are here. There's a wave of chatter about the "crazy shit" that happened at Alexandria, but I'm not sure what to believe. Some of it sounds a little too fantastic to me.

Finally, all the talk dies down and everyone draws their attention to the top of the concrete platform. I can make out Simon, Dwight, and Eugene in the background, as Negan strolls up to the yellow railing with a grave face. He looks out into the sea of his people, not fixing his gaze on anyone in particular.

Negan lifts Lucille in air. "We are going to war!"

His declaration brings uproar of cheering from the Saviors, who raise their fists in solidarity with the leader. I, however, can feel a rising panic in my chest cavity. My heart pounds like I've just run two miles. I look to Dwight behind Negan and his eyes are already on me with a terrible look that makes me have to push back tears.

People go off in separate, fixed directions and so I beeline it to the steps. I have to wait to get up the stairs, since there's a little traffic, but Dwight's at the top off to the side, waiting for me. As I'm two steps away, Dwight reaches his hand out and I take it, letting him pull me towards him.

I open my mouth to speak, but my brain is still trying to process everything. "Hi." Is all I manage to rasp, on the edge of crying, because of these fucking hormones that won't allow me to wall it up.

Dwight gently takes me by the arm and leads me to the entrance. "Let's go talk."

I nod and let him guide me, as I steal a glance back at Negan who's too busy doling out commands to have noticed me walking right past him, which I'm frankly grateful for.

We go to Dwight's room and he closes the door, sighing heavily with stress. He sits down on the edge of the bed and runs his hands through his hair, before bringing them down in his face.

I count to five, before going over to sit next to him. "What happened today?"

Dwight looks down at his hands. "What happened was that they knew we were coming and they had guns."

"They attacked you?"

"Yeah," He nods, "But some people they thought were on their side weren't and it...changed how they thought things were gonna go, I imagine."

My stomach knots. "Did...did Negan kill someone?"

"No," Dwight glances at me, "a few people died in the gunfire, but if you're asking if he used Lucille, then no. He didn't get the chance."

"Everything will be okay, though, right?"

"I hope so, Nan."

I shift in my seat, unnerved. "But we're stronger, I thought. We have more people, more weapons, more everything. How can we be at the point of having to go to war after one day?"

Dwight sighs. "Because they won today and they're done providing for him. They outnumbered us...and even had a fucking tiger."

My eyes widen and I'm silent for a second to contemplate whether, or not I heard him right. "Did you just-"

"Yes, I said tiger."

Without thinking, I wrap my arm around his. "What are we going to do?" Dwight comfortingly puts his hand on my leg and so I rest my head on his shoulder.

"It'll work out for us, Nan," Dwight says low, "I promised you that I'd make things better and I will."

* * *

 **Well, here it is. This final chapter until October, which makes me feel oddly melancholy, because I really enjoy writing Save Yourself and I'm excited for all I have planned for Nan, Dwight, and even Negan that I don't want to put the story on pause.**

 **Thank you all for reading, reviewing, following! The overall support has been so fantastic ; you're all the best! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I wanted to break on a sweeter, semi- positive note, before shit gets bonkers.**

 ***Shameless Self- Promotion*: I will be putting out another story around the same time next week, as I mentioned last chapter. It's an AU, pre- apocalypse story called, "For You I Was a Flame". It's a Dwight/OC/Negan fic. Give it a glance, if you're interested. :)**

 **If not, then see ya in the fall!**


	38. These Past Two Weeks

_The hole looks deep, dark, and cold. The smell of wet earth is rather heavy, but I don't mind at all. In fact, I like it. The bullets of sweat raised from my pores from digging this grave are all alleviated by a nice breeze. A bird in some unknown tree ahead of me sings a full-throated melody. There's not a rotter in sight, at least from where I'm sitting with legs dangling over the edge of the hole._

 _Something gently compels me to turn my head to the right of me. He sits beside me with just as much serenity. Aside from his arm missing below the elbow, he looks whole and his flesh appears to be warm, not sallow or decrepit. He glances my way and awards me an endearing smile._

 _"Hi." I faintly say without a veil of worry, or fear._

 _"Hi."_

 _A smile forms on my face. "It's nice here."_

 _"Yeah." Charlie nods, before looking straight ahead when a whistle enters the air._

 _I follow his lead and look for any signs of living, or dead movement. "I think it was just the bird."_

 _Just as I say that, another whistle bounces off the trees. It's unmistakably human and sounded somewhat different than the first. Another, third whistle follows and then another. I keep my eyes focused and steady, but I don't see anyone._

 _"They sound close," Charlie claims, "They'll be here soon."_

 _I look back to him. "What should we do?"_

 _His eyes meet mine. "I'm going down there," His head tilts to indicate the grave, "And you're gonna go with them when they get here."_

 _"Why don't we go together?" I ask, still unafraid or upset._

 _"Because this is where I need to stay, Nan."_

 _"Well, what if I stayed with you?"_

 _"No, you can't stay. You need to go."_

 _"Why?"_

 _Charlie exhales. "Because my days have ended, yours haven't."_

 _My eyes flicker in some odd direction at the sound of more whistles. "I don't want to leave you here alone."_

 _"I don't mind being alone for this," He smiles, "In fact, I'd hate for you to stay with me."_

 _A more prominent whistle breezes through the air and oddly enough, the bird responds. The human whistles again and the bird answers back, only with a more hopeful tune._

 _"What if I don't want to go with them?" I finally speak with tears pooling in my eyes, though I still don't feel burdened by anguish or uncertainty. "What if they're bad people?"_

 _"Oh, they're undoubtedly bad people." Charlie lightly chuckles. "Most of 'em, anyway."_

 _I furrow my brows at him. "Then why do I have to go with them?"_

 _"Because life goes on with them, not me." He checks the watch on his remaining wrist that's begun to faintly beep. "Besides, they'll take you where you need to go."_

 _"And where's that?"_

 _Charlie smiles at me and I can't help but smile back. The dominant whistle is close, but the bird prevails still._

A light beeping sound draws me out of sleep. My eyelids are heavy and it's so tempting to just ignore the beeping and go back to sleep. But I know we have to get up, so I take my hand from under his shirt and reach over to stop the alarm on his wristwatch. Dwight inhales deeply and wraps his arms around me with his eyes closed.

"It's six o'clock." I rasp.

"Mhm."

"We have to get up."

Dwight's eyes creep open and he raises his arm to take a look at the time. "Five more minutes."

"I have to pee." I snicker softly.

He sighs. "Alright."

Dwight sits up and moves, so I don't have to climb over him to get out of bed. Up until three nights ago, I've just been climbing over him during the many times I've had to go pee. He started getting out of my way when I accidentally fumbled in the dark three nights ago and ended up bringing my elbow down onto his chest.

"I'll be right back." I say, sliding on the flannel shirt he dropped on the arm of the armchair last night over my t-shirt and sleeping shorts.

After slipping on my shoes, I leave from the room and quietly make my way to the bathroom. I hope the bathroom's not crowded, or that a line isn't out the door. A few people exit from their rooms, heading in the same direction, while others can be heard yawning and shuffling behind closed doors. When I get to the bathroom, I luck out and get in a stall right away. God, I swear every time I go pee lately; it's the best feeling in the world. I'm about eighteen weeks now, but I piss like a racehorse as often as I breathe.

After flushing and then washing my hands in one of the sinks, I walk myself back. When I enter the room, Dwight's still laying down with his eyes closed. I smile to myself as I kick my shoes off, because he doesn't sleep well and so it's sort of nice to see him tired. That's partially due to me having to get up a lot during the night, I think. I shrug off his flannel shirt and place it back where I got it, before gingerly stepping over him onto the bed, so that I can lie back down.

"It's ten after." I murmur, putting my arm across him, as I wiggle close.

"Alright," Dwight croaks, "I'll get up."

"Tired?"

"Yeah," He nods, bleakly opening his eyes, "Maybe we should trade places, so it'll be easier for you get out of bed at night."

I grin lightly. "I like sleeping on this side."

"Then why are you always on this side?" Dwight sleepily chuckles. "Our bed's not that big and I'm practically falling of it, while you've got all that room behind you."

"Yeah, well, if someone breaks in, they'll get you first," I snicker, which he follows, "I like to think of you as a shield."

Dwight looks at me with a smile. "Bitch."

I laugh under my breath. "Am I really hogging the bed?"

"Yes."

I scoot back a bit on the full- sized mattress that is quite small for two adults. "There."

He snickers some more. "Thanks."

 _Our bed?_ His words register through my brain and I inadvertently lower my smile a bit, before peering at him intently. "Did you say _our_ bed?"

"Yeah," His eyes scan my face, "It's both yours and mine, right? Ours."

My smile flourishes. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, this is your room and I didn't want to just assume that-"

"That what's mine is yours?"

I nod, "Mhm."

Dwight smirks. "Well, we live together, so what's mine is yours."

I smile more brightly, if that's possible. Dwight's eyes appear to soften, before he inclines my way and kisses me on the mouth.

When he leans back to where he lay, I lick my lips, trying not to smile anymore because my cheeks are starting to hurt. "What was that for?"

He shakes his head, kindly pushing some hair from my face. "I don't know. Just wanted to."

I give him a sweet kiss back and sit up. "We should really get up now."

Dwight exhales and moves. "Yeah."

I stretch my arms above my head and move my head from side to side, before I get out of bed again to go to the shelf to get my vitamins. Dwight shuffles over to the kitchenette to the coffee pot.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," I say, before I bitterly choke down my large, chalky prenatals, "I think I might be able to stomach breakfast."

"You want eggs and toast?" Dwight asks me, snapping on the little stove.

"Sure." I smile, as I pull out some of my clothes from my trunk.

The food smell is more than pleasing to me. The aroma of coffee is practically godlike. Two days prior would be a different story. No matter what it was, I'd be sicker than a dog at the smell of any food. I've been eating nothing but lousy, plain oatmeal for two whole days.

I slather on some cocoa butter that I took from the commissary, because a Savior in the showers told me that it was good for stretch marks. I've already got some, old and new, and they don't really bother me, but I like the smell of the cocoa butter and it makes my skin soft like I've never known. My jeans are getting hard to zip and button, but I have this trick where I use a hair tie to keep the button close enough to the hole. I can zip my pants up until that point, where then I just make sure my shirt covers the clearly unfastened button.

"It's ready." Dwight says behind me.

I pull my shirt down over my growing belly, before I accept the plate he's extended. "Thank you."

I sit down in the armchair and take a whiff of the delicious eggs and toast with a little strawberry jam, before digging in. When I can eat, I don't shy away.

Dwight plants it on the edge of our bed a few moments later with his own breakfast. "There's more eggs in the pan, if you're still hungry after that."

"Okay," I smile, thoughtfully chewing my toast, "So...anything yet?"

He looks up from his plate and shakes his head. "No, nothing yet."

I nod and then resume my breakfast. "So, I have my appointment tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know."

"...Harlan said that he might be able to tell the sex of the baby."

"Yeah, that's what you were telling me the other day."

I get up to get the eggs from the pan. Dwight was right to make them. "I know you've got a lot to do, but I was thinking maybe you could come."

"Nan, we've talked about this."

"I know you're opposed, Dwight, but-"

"For good reason." He interjects, glancing up at me.

I put my hand on my baby bump, trying not to express my discontent. "I know, but it could be a really important appointment and it'd mean a lot to me, if you'd be there for it."

Dwight lowers his eyes to his plate, thinking. "I know and it's not like I don't want to go, but I just don't think it's a good idea."

I close my mouth and scoop the eggs onto the plate, deciding not to argue. I was almost tempted remind him of the possibility of Negan showing up, but I don't want to make waves.

Dwight stands up and walks his plate to the sink, where he quietly washes it along with the pan. I tug on my shoes and pull my hair back into a ponytail. My hair's getting long and unruly at the ends. I should get it cut. Dwight dresses himself behind me in silence and it makes me afraid that I might have fucked things up. But, when I peer over my shoulder, he glances my way and while he's not smiling, I can see there's no anger or annoyance behind his face.

"What?"

"Nothing," I turn away, scratching my nose ring, "I've got a few minutes before I need to head down to meet Reed."

"Don't worry about cleaning up," Dwight replies, tightly lacing his boots, "I'll do it later tonight."

I smile again. "I'm not a frail old lady, Dwight."

He goes to get his radio to clip to his belt. "I know you're not a frail old lady, but I take care of it."

"I'll just pick up my clothes," I claim, taking the second radio from him, "For my own peace of mind."

Dwight snickers. "I don't believe you."

I fight a smirk in vain. "I don't want to be a freeloader."

"You're not."

"Well, it feels that way when you take care of everything," I take a drink from my mug of water that was set on the end table by the chair last night, "I appreciate it, but I like to feel self-sufficient and contributive."

Dwight smiles. "Alright."

"Heading off?"

"Yep," He walks over and peck my lips, "See ya."

"Bye."

I wait until he's gone, before I eye up the coffee in the pot. Harlan said I should stay away from caffeine until my blood pressure's lower. _But it smells so good_. I find out tomorrow if it's improved since my last appointment. _Fingers crossed_. I've had to endure really bad caffeine withdrawals for the last two weeks. I sigh longingly, before dumping the small pot down the drain.

Dwight washed his plate and the pan, so I quickly wash mine and dry it with a dishtowel. Then, I tidy up around the room. _Our room_. It's both strange and appealing to use the word "our." Even though we've been living together for the past two weeks, I still have been calling it "Dwight's room", or just "the room". It really feels good to hear him call it ours.

Despite the eve of war, if you can call it that, these past two weeks have been placid and frankly great. Dwight and I have been living in what feels like amity, not once arguing or rubbing each other the wrong way. We're getting along better than two peas in a pod. Life kind of seems normal, routine, and I like it. I can't remember the last time I felt so optimistic. Maybe three times _is_ the charm.

After picking up both mine and Dwight's laundry, I look over at the clock on the wall and head for the door. Something shifts behind me and I turn, scanning the room. I think it was the bass trophy on the back wall, because it looks slightly askew. Dwight keeps having to adjust it, claiming it's the nail it hangs from. Reed hates it when I'm late and I don't want him to think what he already thinks about my past tardiness, so I decide to just leave the bass alone.

 **...**

The Sanctuary's been teaming with more Saviors than I could have previously fathomed since the attack at Alexandria. Dwight told me all about it and I was there in the quad when Negan announced that we were going to war with them. Apparently, it's not just the Alexandrians; Harlan's community and another place have taken up arms against the Saviors.

Negan's brought more people from the outposts back to home base, so it's been pretty crowded around here. I don't really like it. Maybe it's just me, but the more Saviors there are around here, the more issues with point-workers there's been. None of the workers have instigated the beastly behavior that's been afforded to them by the Saviors that decided to take or break things of theirs and/or rough them up.

I've also noticed a lot more wolf- whistling throughout the day, which makes my stomach lurch. At first, I got a few whistles or catcalls thrown my way, despite being pregnant, but I haven't gotten anymore blatant harassment for the most part. I suspect it's either, because rumor informed the outpost Saviors of whom the father of my baby is. Whether they've backed off because they think it's Dwight's, or because they think it's Negan's is unclear to me, but it makes them leave me alone.

Speaking of Negan, I've been rather fortunate enough to fly under the radar with him for two weeks. The pending war has kept him busy, so he hasn't had time to bug me, which makes me hopeful that my blood pressure will be down, since he's primarily why it's ansty.

The war, or the preparation for war, has also kept Dwight on his feet. All the info I need, I get from him, since he knows everything that Negan knows about what's going on. I knew that Dwight was high-ranking, but I didn't realize just how so. Apparently he's a lieutenant. I'm not sure if that's a new title, or one he's had, because all that matters around here is who you are, not what you are, and who you are is Negan.

So far, nothing's happened. The Alexandrians and their allies haven't made any moves since the rebellion two weeks ago. And aside from the meetings Negan's held with his lieutenants, as well as the constant bookkeeping Reed and I have been busting our asses with, we haven't counteracted either.

"Mornin'." Reed greets at his desk with a coffee mug in his hand.

"Morning," I greet back, "Want me to start out in the Mechanic's Yard again?"

"No, go ahead and hit the kitchens for a count of the non-perishables. Tell 'em to toss the expired shit, instead of trying to move to the commissary." Reed gets my clipboard out from his desk drawer. "We had that one worker that was sick kicked the bucket last night, because that stupid asshole, Owen, told the workers not to waste the expired cans."

"Botulism?"

"No, Harlan said it was just an intestinal infection. But it could be botulism next time and that shit's contagious," Reed scoffs, "That said, after that, go to the commissary and make sure there's none on the shelves. You might have to sweep the quarters, too. Negan doesn't want lose anymore resources."

Resources. _Fuck him._ By resources, he means workers. "You want me to go through their stuff?"

Reed looks up from his clipboard. "That's what I said," My look of apprehension makes him sigh irritably, "Is that a problem?"

"No, I just..." I glance out the window to find a good lie, "That's just a lot of quarters to go through."

"Yeah, well, that's your job, so if you don't like it, talk to Negan."

"No," I bluntly say, "I can do it."

"Then go do it."

"Fine," I head for the door, "Oh, just a reminder, I've got my doctor's appointment tomorrow at two."

"Yeah, I got it," Reed nods, "So, get to work already."

In the kitchens, I let Owen show me to the cans, which I personally check for expiration dates. I pull about twelve cans from the shelves and toss them myself, before heading to the commissary. The commissary is closed until later on when the workers are done working, so I have one key on a red bungee cord to open it up to take stock. Reed instructed me to close the waist high metal gate behind me whenever I take stock to avoid theft. I drag the step stool over so I can get at the top shelves to go through the cans. _Unbelievable_. I pull fifty cans from the shelves that, according to the logs, were admitted here yesterday and I'm not done yet.

"I want a full inventory of the armory," Negan's voice demands from out in the hall, "That includes the fuckin' outposts, so radio back and tell 'em to make it a priority."

"You got it." Gary replies.

"Well, good morning!"

 _Queue the horror music and lightening_. I glance over my shoulder. "Good morning."

Negan's dimples are partially concealed by the stubble beard. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Pulling the expired cans off the shelves." I dryly inform him, before returning to the task.

"Yeah, I can see that," He retorts with humor, "I meant, what are you doing on that stool?" A metallic slam, tells me that he's opened the gate, entered, and closed it behind him.

I furrow my brows, puzzled, and look back to him. "I'm taking the bad cans off the shelves."

"That stool looks finicky as fuck. I wouldn't be standing on it, if I were you." Negan tells me.

"You're taller and probably weigh more than I do."

He chuckles a little. "Get off of it."

I don't argue with him, because I can't really, so I sigh and ignore his offered hand as I carefully step off the stool. I look up at him, "I can't see the cans from here."

"I don't care," He grins, before reaching up and pushing all the remaining cans forward, "It's a safety hazard."

I almost ask him since when does he care if people fall off step stools, but I know what his answer, as it pertains to me, would be and I don't want to hear it. Plus, I guess it would be bad, if I fell off.

"Jesus," He looks down at the floor where the pulled cans sit, "This is all bad?"

"Yeah," I nod, grabbing the first can I can reach.

"How are things?" Negan asks next.

"Fine," I shrug.

"Fine? Boy, Dwight's really rubbing off on you, huh?"

"Yeah," I purposefully agree, while maintaining an aloof air, "We're really getting on together."

Negan scoffs, and then chuckles. "I'm sure."

I glance back up at him. "Did you need to see anything?" I lift a few of my papers up on my clipboard. "I've got logs for the kitchens, the commissary, the quart-"

"I don't need anything, " He interrupts me, "I was just walkin' on by when I saw you and thought I'd shoot shit with you for a minute."

"Oh, well, I have to go through the quarters, so I don't have time to talk." I pick a few cans up to stack them in the crates by the garbage can.

"You have time, if I fucking say you've got time and I..." He places his cruel body in front of me, "Say you've got some time."

"Time for you?"

"You bet your ass time for me," Negan smiles at me, "Tomorrow's the twelfth."

"I know."

"I know you do," His gloved hand tucks some hair behind my ear, "I just was reminding you that I also know. That it didn't slip my mind in all this shit."

I move my head away from his hand. "I should start going through the quarters."

His eyes evaluate my fairly blank face. "Alright, chop, chop."

I leave the commissary and wait for him to exit, so I can lock up. I immediately turn my back on him to head to the quarters.

The quarters are basically empty, because all the workers are out doing their jobs, so I don't feel as bad going through their stuff. I haven't had to take anything so far, which is good. The quarters have a smell that I don't think I've ever noticed before. Not necessarily pungent, per say, but I get a hint of sweat and maybe unwashed clothes. Maybe I never noticed it, because I lived here for a long time. A few workers pass by, while others stand by, and observe me rummaging. I want to tell them it's for their benefit, but I'll save my breath since they don't care for me anyway.

In the quarter 20, I find a pocketknife, which prompts me to turn around and look at the three workers behind me. I can tell by the face of the younger man that he's worker 20. I rise, tucking the knife in my back pocket and move on without a word.

When I make it to quarter 51, Marisol's quarter, I go through her two baskets of stuff, hoping that I don't find any bad cans. I don't, but I find quite a bit of fruit, which is good but unusual. Fruits and vegetables are expensive, so typically workers buy very little quantities, if any, at a time. She's essentially got a fruit basket in here. I sneak a peek at her point count in the back of my papers and see that she's at a hundred and twelve, which is low. I guess she could be behind because of the fruit...

It takes me almost two hours to go through the quarters, but by time I finish, I'm starving. After tossing the cans, I head up to the second floor to eat lunch.

"Hey, gorgeous!" Hal appears at my elbow, as I'm climbing the stairs.

"Hey, handsome," I smile, "Going my way?"

He chuckles. "Just to get my jacket. Where ya off to?"

"Back to Dwight...and I's room to get something to eat."

"Cool," Hal walks with me down the hall, "So, you've got your appointment tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Excited?"

"...I guess so."

"You guess so?"

I shrug, "I told Dwight I wanted him to come, but..."

"He said no?"

"Not in so many words," I sigh, "but pretty much."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated, Hal, and I don't want to ruin how good things have been by fighting over it with him."

"Whatever," Hal mutters, still a little on the fence about Dwight, "So, what are you aiming for?"

"Pardon?"

"Boy, or girl?" Hal looks at me, stopping at his door.

"Oh," I shrug my shoulders again, "I don't know, I haven't really thought about it."

"You haven't?"

"No...But it doesn't matter to me."

"Alright," He looks me over, "See ya later."

"See ya."

After lunch, Reed radios for me to go collect the sign-in sheets down by the front gates. Negan now has the guards that use to stand by the front gate and south gate, up on the roofs of some smaller buildings, so they can keep watch for incoming intruders. Being the case, Reed's decided to move the clipboards to their new posts.

I walk out of the front doors and as I'm making my way down the steps, I spy Dwight by the fences. I curiously watch him, as I pick up the clipboard from the post. He's behind one of the rotters on the fence, crossbow in hand, which seems strange since he doesn't normally carry it around all day, every day. I start to approach him, when he lifts the bow and fires a bolt through the fence.

"Hey."

He startles a little, but appears nonchalant enough when he sees its me. "Hey."

"What are you doing?" I innocently ask.

"Making sure the roamers on the fence are secured." He answers simply.

I look out past the fence. "What were you shooting at?"

Dwight follows my gaze. "Uh, I thought I saw some movement, but it was nothing." He peers back at me. "It's hot out here. I'm gonna head in."

"Aren't you gonna get your bolt?" I ask him with knitted brows.

He looks out beyond the Sanctuary. "I'll get it later. C'mon."

I feel his hand gently take my elbow, so I turn around. "Okay."

 **...**

The day finally ends and I'm exhausted. After leaving Reed's office, I go back to our room to make dinner. When I get in, I look through the cans we have to make sure they're not bad, then file through the envelopes of food packs. Oh, we've got one chili mac n cheese left. I rip it open and let it slide into the pot.

Dwight enters about twenty minutes later. "You beat me to it." He says, kicking off his boots.

"Yep," I grin, while stirring the spoon around in the pot, "The bass trophy is crooked again."

He looks over at the bass on the wall, before walking over and tipping it just right again. "There." As he turns around, it tilts again, which consequently makes him face it again. "Fuck."

"Why don't you take it down and replace the nail?" I suggest, turning off the camping stove.

"Yeah." He nods, trying to straighten the trophy until it stays.

"I talked to Negan today." I tell, dividing the pot into two bowls.

"Oh, yeah?" Dwight moves past me to get into the fridge. "What about?"

"Take a wild guess." I wait for him to take the cap off his beer, before handing him a bowl.

Dwight tips the beer back. "He's planning on showing up to the appointment."

"Yes."

He sits in the chair, turning his spoon in the bowl. "Okay."

"Okay?" I repeat, confused and a little agitated. "You're okay with that?"

Dwight shrugs. "What time was it again?"

"At two."

He nods his head, continuing to eat. "Okay."

"So, it won't bother you that he's going to my ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby?" I mildly huff, "He'll probably take the print."

Dwight scrunches his face and shakes his head. "Nah, he won't."

"How do you know?" I arch my brow.

"Trust me, he won't."

I scratch the cuticle of my thumb. _Don't ruin the bliss_. "Okay, I trust you."

He turns his head and looks at me. "How was the rest of your day?"

"Same old, same old." I look down at my bowl, not realizing that I've eaten all the chili mac.

I do the dishes after dinner, brush my teeth, and wash up a little with a hand towel and some mild goat milk and rose soap. Where the lady who makes soap got the goat's milk, I haven't a clue, but seeing as we don't have goats here, I imagine she won't be making it any time soon. I undress by my trunk. Something falls to the floor behind me.

"What's that?" Dwight walks over to pick it up.

"Oh, it's a pocket knife I found in the quarters today." I say, massaging some cocoa butter on my stomach.

He looks at me with raised brows. "Did you report it?"

"No," I take it from him and drop it in the side rip in the trunk, "I didn't."

Dwight puts his hands on his hips, sighing. "Alright."

I almost look to him in surprise that he didn't insist I report it, since it's contraband, but I just finish lotioning my skin. While doing so, my eyes trail over to the chessboard. "Did you find the missing piece yet?"

"What?" He turns, "Oh, no, I haven't."

"It has to be around here somewhere," I tilt my head, trying to peek between the nooks and crannies of the furniture, "I looked for it when I was cleaning today."

"I'll just have to make new one." Dwight just answers.

I climb onto the bed and open the window, before lowering myself into a sitting position. I watch Dwight dress down for bed. He goes over to the sink to brush his teeth. His eyes meet mine as he finally comes over to bed, pulling back the comforter and sheets, and laying down. I follow his lead and get under the covers, turning on my side. He looks over at me, so I offer a meek smile.

"You gonna stay on your side?"

I snicker, mildly shaking my head. "Probably not."

Dwight smiles into a tired laugh, before kissing me. I put my hand on the side of his face, tenderly kissing him back. The warmth of his semi-calloused hand reaches me under the covers and under my shirt, smoothing a cosseting hand over my tummy. An alleviated exhale escapes my through my nose and I worm my way closer to him, letting him engulf me in his scent and lay his arm across me.

 **...**

When I wake up the next morning, Dwight's already up and making breakfast. I get up; go to the bathroom, return to have breakfast, and then dress to start the day all over again; including the peck I receive from Dwight before we go to work.

I knock on Laura's door and listen to the hushed murmuring, followed by a semi-elevated, teasing laugh, while I wait for her to open up. She finally opens up, garbed in a black tank top, black underpants, and a gray hoodie that isn't hers; leaning her arm on the door way.

"Yeah?" She simply inquires.

"Here's that book I borrowed." I hand it to her.

"Damn, darlin'," Laura looks it over, "You read fast."

"Yeah." I faintly smile, nosily peering over her shoulder into her room. "Good morning."

"Mornin'." Hal greets back, a little unpleased but not pissed off.

Laura winks at me. "See ya around."

"Sure."

The rest of the morning is, as usual, routine. I collect my clipboard from Reed's office and set out to perform all that is expected to earn my place. I keep watch of the time, so that I make sure I hit my marks faster than my typical timeliness. That way I can finish quicker and not have to worry about anything else after my appointment, other than helping Reed prepare the main log book for Negan to look over.

I roll around Dwight's reasons for not going to the ultrasounds in my head and while I'm trying get on the same page as him, drawing the same conclusion, I just can't get myself past the disappointment in him not being in there with me. Nor can I brush off that his absence is replaced by Negan's ever-dominant presence.

"We got smoke in the east," Arat says over the radio, "Looks like it might be just off the highway. Over."

"Alright, we'll send some convoys to check it out," Dwight radios back.

What? That worries me. I check the clock on the wall of the hall I'm coming down. It's just about fifteen to one. I reenter the main hub of the factory, where I find Simon, Eugene, and three other characters' I'm not familiar with. One looks rather unsure, despite Simon's zealous pat on the shoulder, but I suppose that's just how anyone would feel about Simon.

"Alright, they'll take the Sister route, since it's locked down," Laura's voice exits my radio, "What's the call?"

"Go big. We got two cars, ten guns," Dwight responds, "We're not messing around."

I maneuver my way to the front doors of the factory to get outside.

"You think it was them?"

I open one of the doors and Dwight glances over his shoulder for a split second. I can make out the vehicles and motorcycles exiting the Sanctuary as two Saviors roll back the gates.

"Nah, it was probably just something left over, maybe just under one of the bodies."

"I want some bang-bang, I want some scream-scream. I want some blood." Laura haughtily retorts.

"Well," Dwight says, "Maybe you'll get lucky."

"What's going on?" I ask him.

"Just some smoke out by the highway." Dwight answers, no worries in his tone.

"Who are those people with Simon?" I glance to up to the side at the two armed guards.

"Two of them run outposts and the other's the leader from Hilltop."

"He's...here?"

"Yeah, he came with Simon," Dwight puts a cigarette in his mouth and reaches into his pocket, "Wants to help squash this whole thing."

"Really?" I say with a skeptic tone.

Dwight lights the cigarette with his lighter. "Yep." He looks over at the guards and then at me with a causal, apologetic realization. "Shit," He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, "Sorry."

"It's okay, I'm gonna go inside anyway."

Dwight drops it on the ground. "I gotta go in, too."

His hand caringly touches my back as I turn to go inside with an encouraging firmness, as if he's ushering me indoors.

"Dwight!" Negan barks our way as soon as we get in. He motions Dwight over with a swift flick of his finger to where he, Simon, Eugene, the Hilltop leader, and the other two outpost leaders are standing.

"I gotta go," Dwight looks at me, "We're having a meeting."

"Okay," I steal a glance at Negan's eyes that are already set on me and then back to Dwight, "I've got an hour to finish."

As I stalk off to do my job, I hear Negan tell his little congregation that he wants "it" to be hashed out shortly. "I don't want this lasting more than an hour."

 **...**

I wash my hands in the sink in our room, after finishing up a quick bite. I then splash some water in my face, patting it dry with a towel. The sound of multiple engines rolls just within earshot into the small open window. When the clock reads one- fifty, I leave to go up to the fourth floor to the infirmary for my ultrasound.

I enter the hall and flatten my back against the door as three Saviors briskly tread by in silence. When they pass, I go in the opposite direction to the third level stairs. More Saviors push past me as I walk, occasionally just knocking shoulders with me and not saying so much as an explicative at me as they do. The metal stairs sound like thunder as four more hurry down them, before I have time to enter the stairwell.

I climb the first set of steps with tired legs. I've been going up and down stairs a lot today and so my legs create an ache in my thighs with each step up. I even grab the railing, feeling like an old la- _What the fuck?_

I stop dead in my tracks at what sounded like gunfire. I look over my shoulder and down at the open door of the stairwell. After a thought, I turn around and head back, towards the front of the factory where I now believe those Saviors were going.

Every step I take in that direction makes my chest rise and fall more heftily with both exertion and panic. I get to the main floor, on the catwalk, where I can oversee workers and Saviors gathered in either question or readiness.

"Hey," Dwight suddenly emerges from behind me and takes my arm with less gentleness and more urgency than earlier, "Go to our room, okay?"

"Dwight, what-"

"They're outside waiting for us," His voice is calm but adamant, "So, I want you to go to our room and wait for me get you."

Behind Dwight, I spy Negan, along with the others from an hour ago, stroll up to the main doors. My eyes go back to Dwight. "Are you going out there?"

"It'll be fine," Dwight assures me, "Just please go back to our room." He doesn't wait for a confirmation from me, before he heads towards the others.

"Well, shit," Negan says boisterously, as he exits out of sight into the front quad, "I'm sorry. I was in a meeting."

When they've all gone out, the door is nearly closed all the way, letting in a fractional line of light from the outside world. I stand where Dwight stopped me, trying to hear what's going on.

"I don't really feel like there's a fucking reason for us to be throwin' fuckin' lead at each other," Negan tells whomever is out there, "I care about my people. I don't want to just fuckin' march them into the fucking line of fire because I want to play "my dick is bigger than yours." It is."

A snort and snicker faintly erupts from one of the Saviors that are standing just along the wall on opposite sides of the doors. My eyes scan out onto the floor as Negan continues waving his dick around outside, which despite what he said, is exactly what he's doing. Another, gruffer voice calls back, but I can't really hear it, probably because it's so far away. He sounds like he's listing names, or something, I don't know. It does sound familiar though, maybe not the confidence, but the voice is definitely one I've heard before.

"What about me, Rick?" Negan asks with some sarcasm. Rick...that guy from Alexandria! Daryl's group. I take a few light steps forward.

"I already told you!" Rick shouts back! "Twice! I'm going to kill you!"

A scale of fear waves through me and I feel a sharp pain that makes me touch my stomach. I glance at the door and then my bump, deciding to go back to Dwight and I's room. _It's just gas_. I pause at that thought and resolve to hear Rick and whomever else is out there out.

"Only one person has to die!" Rick claims. "This can end before it even starts!"

"Now, let's cool it for a minute." An unfamiliar voice answers.

"Alexandria," Rick replies, "Hilltop, The Kingdom. We're all done working for you, while you take from us and kill us."

"You have no idea the shit that's about to go down," Negan shouts back, "What do you have to say to Rick and the piss patrol, Gregory?"

"Hilltop supports Negan and the Saviors, " The man, Gregory, I assume, states, "Go home, or you will be turned out of the colony!"

"And?" Negan charismatically asks.

"And you will be left to your own devices and not be welcomed back!"

"And?"

"And your families will be turned away."

This infuriates me to the point that I can feel heat billow into my cheeks. I don't know what's worse, the leader of that community betraying his own people, or that Negan was the one that most likely set those terms and all this Gregory had to do was repeat them.

"You heard the man," Negan yells, "Go home and get back to separating wheat and shit, or whatever the fuck it is do you people do!"

There's some short bit of silence, before a woman's voice calls out. "Doesn't look like anybody's moving!"

"Hilltop stands-"

"Hilltop stands with Maggie!" Another cries out.

Simon speaks in a low, threatening tone and I can't quite make out the words. It makes me think of Marisol and I go closer to the yellow railing to see if I can spot her, while Rick and Negan continue their back and forth.

"Are you really gonna make count?" Rick asks with what seemed like a little haughtiness. "Alright, I'll count."

This gets my attention, so I stop looking for Marisol and stare at the two front doors.

"Ten!" He begins counting. "Nine! Eight!" _What happens when gets to one?_ "Seven!"

* * *

 **Hooray, Save Yourself is back! I've seriously missed working on this fic and am so happy to be starting back up again. How awesome was that Season premiere, right? So good!**

 **Any who, this chapter may be a bit boring, but I figured it would be a good "while you were out" sort of chapter after such a long break. Thank you all for the support and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	39. We're Really In Trouble

"Seven!"

A barrage of gunfire abruptly breaks the anticipation without warning. As if we're all one collective body, those of us indoors simultaneously drop to the ground for cover. The shattering of glass pierces the air, along with a crashing as pieces drop all the way down onto the concrete floor. The main door pushes open as all whom we're outside duck in to avoid the spray of bullets. As they're hurrying in, a few Saviors march up the stairs to go out and try to defend the Sanctuary from the threat.

I slowly move my hands from my head and start to rise from my knees, using the yellow rail to steady me up, when I come to the realization that no bullets have hit anyone. There's no cries, or yelling of pain from being shot, only a few, faint shrieks from some of the workers when another window is broken. I stand, stunned, as I watch the windows above being shot out. The way each and every white and yellowed square glass is pinged out is oddly horrific to watch.

My eyes move to the crowd of workers below me. Some of them are huddled together, while others are beginning to stand up with what I assume is the same thing conclusion I'm coming to and looking up at the breaking of the windows. So many have a strange look on their faces; ones that almost look hopeful, while still uncertain of who might burst through those doors.

"Nan!" I turn my gaze forward when I hear Dwight's voice call my name. He's stalking over to me with quick, purposeful strides and a perplexed furrow. "What are you doing?" Before I have time to answer, he adds, "I told you to go back to our room until I came and got you!"

"I..." I'm at a loss for words and apparently a loss for thoughts, because I can't seem to form an explanation, or figure out why.

"Go the room!" Dwight orders.

My eyes dart to the right of me. "The workers..."

"They'll be fine," He tells me, "They need to stay in the quarters, where they're accounted for."

"But..." Marisol's name is on the tip of my tongue, as my head now follows my gaze.

I feel Dwight's hand take me by the elbow and I don't even look back at him, as he leads me away from the sight of the crowd. That peculiar features I think I see in a few, but enough, faces seems so dazing and interesting that I don't want to look away.

Neither of us says a word as Dwight winds me through the halls with what seems like calm urgency. My feet try to match his determined walk. There's a storm of voices over the radios on both our belts; some asking for leadership, others providing it. A bullet knocks out a window pane right before we cross it's path. I stiffen in his grip and when another window a few squares above is hit, I tread back on my heels a bit as a faint gasp escapes my mouth.

Dwight doesn't let me tug back. He trades one hand on my arm for the other, while using the free hand to gently bend me forward, so we can carry on. After we've passed, we straighten up and he touches the middle of my back in a comforting manner. We reach our room and he opens the door without entering.

"Alright, go inside."

I look over at him. "You're going back?"

Dwight sighs, before bringing me into the room. "I have to."

My eyes immediately check the unbroken windows, as I meekly enter, before I turn to face him. "So, I just stay here?"

He nods. "It'll be alright."

"Dwight!" Simon shouts through the radios. "Where'd you go?"

Fear gathers in my chest. "Dwight, you can't-"

"Nan, I have to go back," Dwight cuts me off, "You'll be alright."

"They're at our gates, Dwight."

"They're not coming in," He replies, "They're just shooting out the windows."

I furrow my brows at him, unknowingly putting a hand on my stomach. "How do know they won't try?"

"Because they don't have the numbers and they know it," Dwight calmly puts his hands on my shoulders, as he eases me into the chair, "They're just retaliating for two weeks ago."

"So, we're safe?"

Dwight nods. "Yeah, we'll be fine. I promise."

"There's a pregnant worker in the quarters," I tell him, almost getting up from the chair, "What if-"

"Nan, she'll be fine." He firmly assures me. "Trust me."

I look fearfully at him, but I nod anyway. "Okay."

"Dwight!" Simon yells more sternly over the radio. "Do you copy?"

Dwight gives me a light, confident kiss on the lips, before taking up the radio. "Yeah, I'm on my way!" He then redirects to me. "If you need me, just call, but only if it's important, alright?"

"Yeah," I nod again.

He smiles and leaves the room. My eyes return to the windows, afraid that they'll be shot out soon, too. Though, the wall technically faces the east side of the factory, so maybe they'll be safe. Gunfire appears to be farther away from here, but I still feel anxiety accumulating inside me.

I knew this was bound to happen, but I guess I never thought about them coming here. I guess maybe because with the exception of Carl and Sasha, we've never had exterior threats to worry about. Who would be bold and stupid enough to go up against the Saviors and expect to win? I don't even know just how many there are, or where they all reside if not here, so how could these people be so cavalier to try and fight them?

 _They just want Negan..._ I'm reminded of what Rick said twenty minutes before the shooting. He said only one person had to die and that one person is Negan. All this and what's no doubt to come could be avoided if we all just forfeited Negan over to them. And yet, no one seemed willing to do that. I think I heard someone try to diffuse tension, but aside from that, I don't think that anyone was about to throw Negan to the wolves at the door.

Maybe it's because they were too afraid, worried that they would stand alone and end up paying the price for it. Or maybe they don't believe Rick will keep his word about ending things before they start. If the workers had any say, or power, they'd serve him up on a silver platter in a heartbeat. But not the Saviors. Negan's done wrong to some of them, too, but they still won't budge on loyalty. To them, it's all just part of how things are nowadays. You deserved what punishment or unfairness is dealt on you, because of some rule infraction, or because you tried to stand up for yourself.

I stand up and start to pace. Maybe it's the identity crisis. If I'm Negan, and you're Negan, and Negan's Negan, then how the hell is anyone suppose to hand him over to the rebelling communities? He's made it clear that we don't have anything without him, not even our own names, and, pains me to admit, but he has never not made good on what he promises.

Wait a minute...where is Negan? I suddenly recall the bodies running into the building and his wasn't one of them. He can't be dead. If he were, then it'd all be over, right? But then where is he and why hasn't his voice come over the radio?

Another pain sharply stops me in my tracks. It might be just gas, but it really hurt. The shooting is still going on outside. My face winces at the next little pang, so I decide to leave, despite Dwight's instructions, and try to go to the infirmary. The halls are completely empty. Probably because everyone's down, or out. Except me, which sort of makes me feel like a coward, even if I am four months pregnant.

The stairs don't further my pain, surprisingly, so I hope that's a good thing. I hear Dwight dole out some firm order from the radio and it almost makes me want to put my radio up to my mouth and tell him where I'm going. But I don't want him to tell me to get back to the room, or to be worried and get distracted. That could be dangerous.

I knock on the door to the infirmary, before opening it. The first thing I notice is that the only one little window remains unshattered. I find Harlan sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, but he doesn't look like he's terrified. Just like he's waiting for things to pass.

"I don't suppose you're here for your checkup?" He wryly says at my entrance.

I offer a smile. "No, I think we should reschedule."

"Yeah," He huffs, putting his hand to the wall as he stands, "So, what do you need?"

"I'm having some pain," I inform him, "I don't know if they're cramps, or if it's gas."

Harlan nods. "Cramping can be normal. Would you like to sit down on the exam table? It reclines, so it might help."

"Thanks," I sit and ease myself back, "So, your leader is here."

"Gregory?" Harlan arches his brow. "What's he doing here?"

I can read the skeptical, discerning look on his face. "He told your people to go home and that he stands with Negan."

"People from Hilltop are out there?" He looks towards the intact windows.

"Yes, but they didn't stand down," I reply, "And Dwight said they aren't coming in."

"I don't suppose it'd be wise?" Harlan faintly smiles, losing a bit of hope.

"No," I shake my head, "You wanna go home, don't you?" His eyes meet mine, deliberating whether or not to trust me. "It's okay, you can say it."

"I wouldn't mind living someplace I want to be, rather than forced to be." Harlan admits.

 _Wouldn't we all?_ "I understand."

The doctor sighs. "On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate the pain?"

"Um...a four...maybe a five."

He nods, before walking to the bathroom. "I could give you an exam, if you'd like."

"Okay."

Afterwards, I fix my jeans back up with the hair tie, as Harlan takes off his gloves and washes his hands again. "It's most likely just some mild cramping," He diagnoses, "It's harmless, but if it becomes more frequent, or the pain worsens; then come back."

"Thank you."

"I've got some food in here, if you're hungry."

"Sure, thanks."

"Do you like snickerdoodles?" He opens a drawer in his desk. "A worker made them for me as a thanks for helping her with her rheumatic arthritis."

I take one from the container. "Thank you."

"She told me that the other doctor was a little less helpful." Harlan adds with a bit of trouble in saying that.

"He was just following rules," I explain, chewing, "I had seen him a couple of times and he was a good doctor, it was just the points that kept him from doing the best he could."

Harlan faintly smiles. "What happened?"

I swallow down the cookie, hard. "What?"

"My brother? The other Dr. Carson?" He offers me another cookie, which I accept. "What happened to him?"

My eyes lower to the cookie in my hand. "Negan threw him into the fireplace in the front of the factory."

"But why?" Harlan questions, "Simon told me that Emmett got himself killed by breaking serious rules, but he never said what exactly he did."

I feel at a crossroad here. What should I say to him? I know that Dwight lied about Dr. Carson's involvement in Daryl's escape and flirtation of Sherry. In one hand, I think that Harlan deserves the truth, but I also feel Dwight's words sink in. Especially now that his people are outside. What if Harlan does refuse to help me, because of what Dwight's done?

"Nan?" He calls and I look back up to his curious, beseeching eyes. "What did he do?"

The door flies open and a Savior staggers in with a limp and a blood stains all down his pant leg. "I've need medical assistance, doc," He says, "Stat."

Harlan strides over to the sink in the bathroom to wash his hands. "Where were you hit?"

"In the leg," The man answers with a heaving, adrenaline filled breath, "They shot me in my goddamn leg."

I slide off the table, so he can sit down, dropping the cookie in my hand by accident. When he goes to sit down, I notice that the back of his jeans isn't bloodied like the front. My backside touches the wall, as I stare at the growing pool of blood in the fabric.

"Hey!" I look up at the man. "Make yourself useful and get me something to put on it for pressure."

"It's alright, Nan," Harlan speed walks past me to the cabinets, "I've got it, if you want to step out."

"Oh, yeah," The man chuckles lethargically, "You're the one Dwight knocked up."

I scowl at him. "Yeah, that's right."

Harlan takes scissors and begins cutting the pant leg. The man applies pressure with some gauze that the doctor gave him. "Boy, that was unfortunate, huh?"

"What?"

"You had it good," The Savior explains, sucking in air through his teeth as Harlan cleans the wound, "You were Negan's wife, living the life of luxury, and now you're back to living with 'ol iron-face."

"By choice." I clarify.

"Your choice?" He laughs with more difficulty. "Fuck, it's cold in here."

Harlan stands up from his chair and turns to me. "Nan, I think you better go now." He nods to the container of cookies. "You can have those, if you'd like."

I awkwardly take the cookies, trying not to focus on the blood that's just pouring out of the guy's open wound. "I can stay, if you need any help."

Harlan walks over to the door and opens it. When I'm close enough, he murmurs, "His femoral artery's been hit. He's lost too much blood and I can't get the wound to close."

I nod my head silently and exit. The door closes behind me and I linger in the hall with the cookies. Down the hall, I can see the trail of blood that leads up to the door. I creep past the blood to return to my room. A destructive crash, followed by an immediate, loud explosion from outside halts me for a minute or two, before I hurry on.

When I get back into the room, I feel the panic boil over me and I toss the container of cookies onto the kitchenette, taking up my radio from my belt. I hold it up to my lips with my thumb on the button, ready to tell Dwight I need him. _You don't need him._ But, I can't bring myself to do it. He said it had to be important and right now my fear can be managed on my own. He needs to be there, where he can be of use in defending the Sanctuary.

I sit down on the bed and rest my head in my hands. _Breathe_. I close my eyes and practice deep breathing to soothe myself.

"Anyone have eyes on Negan?" Simon inquires through the radio a few minutes later.

"He was out in the courtyard," A voice informs, "We had to fall back. The dead were getting too thick."

"And Negan?"

"I think he was heading towards the foreman's office. He might be injured."

"Negan, do you copy?" Simon asks. "Negan? Over."

"He didn't have a radio on his belt," Dwight answers, "Aside from the front, everything's locked down. They've retreated."

"Yeah, well, the hoard just keeps coming. They're the most of our worries right now."

"Copy, we'll start thinning 'em out." Dwight's replies.

I start picking my thumb, contemplating. _One- two-three-four-five_. I stand and tread over to the door, opening it up, and heading towards the front of the factory.

Call me stupid, but I can't just sit here and knit. I have to see what's going on. As I get closer to the front, I can hear all the commotion and strictly loud voices of those in charge while Negan's evidently absent. Once it's all out in the open, I see Saviors running to and fro, while the workers are now sitting on each of their own mattresses; accounted for. I walk back on the upper level, scouring for the 50s quarters to find Marisol, bumping and brushing past several Saviors as I do.

I finally spot her sitting criss-cross on her mattress, holding her tummy that's just as big as mine, since she's carrying twins. After I've assessed that she's okay, I go back towards the front, where I can make out that one of the doors is cracked where soldiers are entering and exiting. When I tread over to the front doors, I realize that the gunfire is less than it was before. The growling and snarling of the dead almost is like a deafening hum that supersedes over the gunfire.

I peel back the door and there it is. Without fully being aware, I step out into the heat, where leagues of roamers file into the Sanctuary. Ten, maybe fifteen Saviors attempt to take the down the numbers with bullets and knives to the skulls. There are a few that failed and are on the ground, lifeless and pulled apart. My eyes scan the scene from left to right in utter disbelief. A big RV is charred black and still on fire. We're really in trouble.

"I want all personnel out front," Dwight yells behind from inside, "Save bullets, unless necessary." I hear the door open more behind me. "What are you doing?"

I look over my shoulder, before completely turning my body to face his, terrified. "I was checking on my friend."

Dwight's pissed, no doubt about it, as he approaches me. "Get inside!"

I don't argue, or need him to guide me indoors. I just let my feet carry me inside. The horrific scream of a woman makes me instinctively glance behind me to see a Savior getting a chunk taken out of her forearm.

"Go back to our room and stay there," Dwight strictly orders, "Please."

"Let me help," I plead, "I can do something inside, Dwight, just-"

"Nan, there's nothing you can do right now, until the hoard's gone."

"But-"

"Go back to our room." He adamantly repeats and I can tell he's not going to budge.

I nod my head like a scolded child, before looking into his eyes, "Are you going out there?"

"Yes."

Concern elevates in me. "Stay safe."

Dwight looks me over. "Go."

I drudge back to the room and remain there for hours, only leaving when I have to go to the bathroom. I listen to the news over the radio, while lying in bed, waiting for something good, or for Dwight to come in. Maybe for the sound of a unaccounted for voice, but ultimately not devoting too much of me on hearing him.

* * *

 **Again, this may be a boring-ish chapter, but Nan's sort of limited as to what she gets to participate in, which will likely increase as she becomes more and more pregnant. Although, don't take that as that there shall be very little action ;)**

 **I'm so glad you all were so excited that Save Yourself has returned!**

 **CLTex, PruRose, Kylo Ren Emily Skywalker: Thank you so much for the hoorays about the end of the hiatus! I'm happy the last chapter was to everyone's liking and deeply appreciate the wonderful support! You all are so fabulous!**

 **StTudnoBright: I am also happy to have Dwight and Nan attempt at living as stable a relationship as they can. I think, even with the war, it'll help them grow with one another, as well as sprout some newer affections. And, of course, Negan would make it clear he's still involved!**


	40. Where's Negan?

_"It's nice here."_

 _"Yeah," He agrees, sitting next to me, "It is."_

 _A whistle calls out and another lazily responds. I take a glance over my shoulder. "We should go."_

 _"Nah, there's no place else."_

 _"We can't stay, Charlie."_

 _"You can't," He looks over at me, "I can."_

 _"You want me to go with them?"_

 _"Sure, you'll be okay," Charlie smiles, "They'll take you to where you need to go."_

 _"They-" I stop mid-sentence when a familiar whistle sounds closer than the others, "They're gonna take me to the Sanctuary."_

 _"I know."_

 _"Charlie, it's not a good place."_

 _"You'll be fine," His remaining hand pats my leg, "Take the advice on your leg."_

 _"What?"_

 _He chuckles. "You'll figure it out."_

 _The whistler croons that tune again with some humor in the cadence. A bird sings back and Charlie's smile widens._

 _"I don't want to go."_

 _"You want to stay with me?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Well, you can't," He leans over and kisses my temple, "Your ride's here." He then points out to a tall figure in the distance._

 _No, it can't be. I shake my head. "Charlie, he's-"_

 _"He's why that bird keeps singing," Charlie informs me, "Listen. Every time he whistles, it whistles back."_

 _"So?" I furrow my brows, confused. "It's a just a bird."_

 _"Like that one above your elbow's just a bird?"_

 _I look away from the blurred figure to Charlie. "How do you know about that? You're dead."_

 _He snickers. "Because you keep coming here."_

 _The two whistlers, human and bird, call out again. I glance out, but the shape of the man is gone. "So, you know about him? About him and-"_

 _"The one with the scars?" He nods his head to another familiar figure a little to the left, "Yeah, I know about them."_

 _"...I'm sorry."_

 _"What about?" Charlie scoffs._

 _"I still love you."_

 _"And I will always love you," His smile gleams, "But I'm dead and you're alive. We've grown apart."_

 _I feel tears swell up. "You don't want me to come back?"_

 _"I'm tired, baby," Charlie sighs, kissing my temple once more, "I don't want to sound all cliché, or anything, but I'd like to be able to finally rest."_

 _"I'll try to let you." I look down into the grave below us._

 _"I wouldn't tell you that you'd okay, if I didn't think you would be," He lifts his head up when the gliding shadow of a small bird flits over head, "You and your baby."_

 **...**

I open my eyes at the sound of the door closing. I don't know when I fell asleep, but I don't think I've been asleep for very long, since the room's still light. Dwight looks at me, before walking over to the sink.

"Hey," I push myself up in bed.

"Hey." He turns on the faucet and fills a mug with water.

"What's going on?" I ask with a dry throat, "Is everything fixed?"

Dwight scoffs, before taking a drink from the mug. "No, the hoard's too thick. We decided not to send people out."

I get off the bed and stand. "So, we're trapped inside?"

"As of right now."

I wring my hands. "Um, where's Negan?"

"Don't know," Dwight shrugs, "He might be dead."

"Oh." I nod my head and take a deep breath that sharply rises.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine, it was just a cramp." I go over to sit down in the armchair.

"A cramp?" Dwight hands me his mug. "Is that normal?"

"Yeah."

"You haven't had them before now, have you?"

I take a sip of water, shaking my head. "No, but I saw Harlan and he said I was okay."

He sighs, frustrated. "Okay." He walks over to the fridge and opens it.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"I had to make sure the pain was nothing," I tell him, glancing over my shoulder.

"I get that." Dwight pops the top off a beer.

"But?"

"But I asked you twice to come back here and wait," He adds, irritably, "You could've gotten hurt, Nan. Especially when you thought it be a good idea to go out after the gates were down."

"I didn't know the gates were down," I timidly inform him, "I know it was stupid to leave, but I couldn't just sit here and worry about everything outside this door. That's why I had to go to the doctor's."

"I told you you didn't need to worry. That everything would be alright, so-"

"You don't get to decide whether or not I worry about you, just because you said not to."

Dwight's eyes quietly read my face. "You were worried about me?"

"Yes, I was."

He seems to simmer down and maybe whatever more scolding he had is moot. "You didn't have to worry," He murmurs tipping his beer back, "I've been inside this whole time."

"Well, I didn't know that, so I just assumed that you were out there and I was...I was scared for you." God, I feel so stupid for saying that. Vulnerable and weak and I don't know why.

Dwight nods. "You still shouldn't've left...except maybe to go to the doctor's."

"I know, I'm sorry." I rise from the chair. I can't decide if I should move towards him, or to some unimportant space in the room. "I'll...do what you ask for now on."

He exhales, disappointed. "Nan, I'm not trying to be a controlling asshole. I'm just trying to look out for you and the baby."

"I know," I step towards him and waffle a bit, "I appreciate it."

"I'm sorry if I snapped at you earlier."

"It's okay." I count to five in my head, before I softly incline his way. I wrap my arms around him and I'm glad when he reciprocates. "So, what's going to happen now?"

"That's a little unclear at the moment." He murmurs into my hair.

"What do you mean?" I look up.

Dwight tells me about the meeting before the rebelling communities showed up, of what he heard since he said he stepped out, and the meeting that he just came from. Apparently, there was some confusion as to what should be done, since Negan's MIA and possibly RIP. The last time anyone saw him was when he may have gone into the foreman's office that's a little west of the north gates. He doesn't have a radio and no one can cut through the dead to see if the man who may have seen him go into the office and who is now dead was right.

He also told me how all the lieutenants are at a stalemate as to what should be done. Gavin claimed there's a rat inside the Sanctuary who helped set up the attack and Simon might do more harm than good in Negan's stead. He sent Reed down to the quarters to manage the workers.

"So, what's he going to do?" I prop my head up with my hand, as I lay sprawled out on the bed.

"I convinced him not to let Regina's plan go into effect, considering it'd piss off the workers and they have the numbers."

I nod, taking in the information. "Maybe it's Eugene."

Dwight furrows his brows. "What?"

"The mole," I clarify, "I mean, he is from Alexandria and he does seem smart enough. He tricked Negan into believing that he's a doctor."

"You don't think he's a real doctor?"

I shrug my shoulder. "Maybe he's got some PhDs, but even that gives me bad vibes."

Dwight looks down at the little soldier in his hand. "I don't think he's brave enough to do anything like that. Sort of a coward."

"Cowards do dangerous things, too." I let my eyes travel to the chess piece in his hand, watching as the other precisely paints the piece with a fine brush. "I didn't know you could paint."

"It's just adding color to a piece," He says, paying close attention to the detail he's adding, "Better than having boring, faceless chess pieces."

I smile, "So, when do you have to go back to the meeting room?"

Dwight looks at his watch. "An hour and half."

"Good," I lie on my back and glance up at the ceiling.

"You hungry?" Dwight asks, setting down the piece. "Because, I'm-" There's a knock at the door that makes both of us look over. "I got it."

I sit up, curious to see whom it might be. Dwight walks over and answers the door, peering out, before he opens the door all the way. It's Eugene. He walks in, holding a large jar of pickles with a serious face.

He looks over at me. "Ma'am."

"Hello."

"My memory failed me momentarily," He says, "I forgot that you currently reside here and are no longer a member of Negan's-"

"What do you want?" Dwight asks.

Eugene turns back to Dwight. "I'd like to express my sincere thanks to you for coming to my aid back there. I try to keep on the down low, but sometimes my brain misfires and I put my foot in my mouth at a abnormal velocity."

"Well, you were right," Dwight retorts, "If you didn't say it, I would've, so..."

"As a token of my gratitude, I brought you some premium cukes from my private stash. I'd like to pass these along these as a show of my complete faith that we will indeed find a way out of this pickle. Pun intended."

Dwight looks at Eugene the same way I'm looking at him from behind. I wonder if it's exhausting talking like that and at such a rate as he does. "Well...thanks for stopping by." Eugene hands me the jar of pickles, before stepping over to Dwight's chess set. "Hold up," Dwight warns Eugene, "Still wet."

Eugene puts the piece down and inspects his thumb. "My apologies." The soldier he picked up fell, so Dwight reaches over to set him just so. "You DIY these?"

"That's right."

Eugene nods, before standing up and briefly looking over at me. "If I may say, the reputation of women with a maternal condition as being illuminating from the inside out proceeds you."

"Um, thank you."

He turns and goes to the door. He looks at Dwight as he open the door. "I understand why yours truly would be the prime suspect in any Benedict Arnold type situation. Being said, I am doubly grateful of you watching my back."

"You were right," Dwight shrugs, "I didn't say anything more than that."

Eugene leaves our room and Dwight lightly shuts the door. He then faces the room and glances over at me.

"What was that about?"

"I agreed with him," Dwight comes over and takes the pickles from me to walk it to the fridge, "He said it'd be a mistake to send people out there and I said he was right."

"I don't suppose anyone else backed him up?"

"Nope and I'm pretty sure Regina and Simon think he's the rat. Gavin, too."

"They might not be so far off track." I sigh as I stretch my arms out.

"You want something to eat?" Dwight asks me.

"Mm, no," I stand up from the bed, "I think I'm going up."

He looks over his shoulder. "Up?"

I nod my head. "No one's checked on the wives."

"They're all the way up top," Dwight shifts his body my way and leans against the kitchenette, "They're fine."

"Dwight," I groan, "They probably have no clue what's going on and...Look, someone's gotta check on them to make sure they're alright. They're part of our community, too."

His eyes look to the floor as he thinks about what I'm saying. Maybe he's trying to understand where I'm coming from. He personally knows two women who lived up there and so he must know how others feel about Negan's wives. Dismissed, or unfairly judged as lazy, privileged whores who took the easy way out. The only reason they're treated with mild respect to their faces is because they're married to Negan and people are afraid to piss him off.

I stroll over to him. "I mean, I won't go, if you forbid it of me," I can't help but smile, "I wouldn't want to displease you."

Dwight snickers. "Shut up."

I chuckle softly. "I won't go, if you don't want me to."

"No," He shakes his head, "Things are alright for now. You can go."

"Alright," I notice a button on his shirt is almost undone, so I fix it, "And then maybe I'll go down and check on-"

"Don't go down to the quarters." Dwight tells me, taking my hand in his for emphasis.

I look up at him, perplexed. "Why not?"

"We're shutting off the generators to preserve energy and that means it's gonna get hot and dark and with everything that's up in air right now, it's just not a good idea. They're not gonna be happy and we don't have the numbers to compel them to sit and stay in their quarters."

"So it's dangerous outside and possibly dangerous inside?"

"There's a chance," He moves a strand of hair from my forehead, "So, please stay above the factory floor."

"What about Reed?" I question, "He's down in the quarters."

"They like Reed; he's fine."

I nod. "Okay...have you seen Hal?"

"He's with Laura and Reed."

I sigh, relieved. The workers like Hal, too. Even if he's a Savior now, he's always been well liked. _I hope._ "Okay."

"We could eat together before we have to break," Dwight suggests again.

A grin breezes on my face. "Alright."

 **...**

The halls aren't as quiet as they were just before the thunder. There's some low chatter coming from both open and shut doors, along with some griping and groaning from those who I assume were only mildly injured. The glass from shattered windows still crunches under my feet as I make my way to the top of the Sanctuary to see the wives.

I pass the infirmary, which has a short line along the wall of Saviors that managed to get hurt. I'm reminded of that guy that burst in on Harlan and I. I wonder if he's died yet? I know that as I walk pass the row of injured Saviors, I'm being silent scrutinized, but I ignore them and keep walking.

I reach the top floor and gingerly open the door in the stairwell, peering into the hall for signs of the girls. A moment later, a pair of heeled footsteps approaches from what sounds like Tonya and Frankie's room. The door creaks open.

"Negan?" Tonya inquires from behind the door, out of sight.

"No," I reply, "Its Nan."

The door opens the rest of the way, revealing Tonya with a revolver in her hand. "What's going on?"

I suddenly get view of Frankie and Hazel. "We were attacked. The gates are down and the factory's surrounded by the dead."

"We're trapped?" Frankie asks, worried.

"As of right now," I answer, letting the door to the stairwell l close behind me, "We might have to evacuate, but right now, nothing's being said."

She nods. "Where's Negan?"

"Um," I look at their faces and can tell they're not frail enough to hear; "We don't have eyes on him."

"So, he's dead?" Amber meekly inquires, sitting on Tonya's bed.

I walk into the bedroom and see that two of the square windowpanes were shot out. "You all have been sitting in here?"

"Yeah," Tonya replies, "We wanted to see if we could make anything out, but no luck."

I nod my head. "You should probably move to the drawing room, or...Negan's room. Just in case they come back. Those are probably the safest places up here."

"Unless they attack from behind." Hazel points out.

"Yeah..." I flatly agree, "I don't think they're coming back for awhile though."

"So, did you come to check on us, or something?"

I look over at Danica. "Uh, yeah, I just wanted to make sure you guys were okay."

"Thank you," Tonya smiles, wringing her fingers, "Come into the drawing room. Sit down."

"Oh, I..." My eyes scan her insisting face, "Alright, sure."

"Want something to drink?" Frankie sweetly offers. "We have some lemonade."

"I'm okay, thanks." I follow them into the room and have a set on one of the sofas. I'm abruptly reminded of a time when Negan sat next to me here; leaning over with his arm around the back of the sofa, whispering something suggestive about my embroidery project.

"Would you like anything to-" The lights go out, which causes us to instinctively look up at the lightless chandelier above us.

"Um, they're shutting off the generators to conserve power."

"For how long?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure."

Frankie clears her throat. "So, do you want anything to eat?"

"No, I just ate." I fold my hand in my lap, glancing around the room.

"How long will take for them to get rid of the dead?" Tonya questions.

"I'm not sure," I say, trying not to convey my own concern, "They aren't clearing, because the hoards too thick."

Frankie looks over at Amber's uneasy face. "You know what? Let's not talk about it right now," She smiles at me, "How far along you?"

"Oh, yeah, let's hear about the baby." Danica chimes in.

"Uh, there's not much to tell," I politely grin, "I'm eighteen weeks and...I was suppose to have a doctors appointment today, but that's obviously been delayed."

"Oh, you were gonna find out if it's a boy or girl, right?" Tonya hands me a glass of water, even though I didn't ask for it.

"Yeah..."

"Negan was saying something about it this morning." Frankie relays.

I can't help but stare at her, bewildered. "What did he say?"

Tonya rubs her arm. "Just that he was stoked to find out what you were gi- having."

My brows furrow. "Were you just about to say give?" They all avert their eyes. "As in...giving him a child?"

"Are you sure you're not a little hungry?" Danica asks me, "We have-"

"Did he say I was giving him a child?"

"No!" Frankie assures me. "He said-"

"He said he couldn't wait to find out what you were giving him," Hazel rolls her eyes at Frankie's disapproving look, "He did say that. As creepy as it sounds, he said it."

"It's Dwight's baby." I reverberate for the millionth time.

"Not according to Negan," Hazel retorts, "But don't worry, once the baby's born, he'll have to face the truth."

Frankie clears her throat and gives Hazel a stern gaze with a very subtle shake of her head. It perplexes and upsets me. It wasn't the sort of look that implied that I'm some fragile little canary that can't handle vexing news. Rather, it's the kind of motion that very finely suggests that she's conveying to Hazel not to build me up.

My eyes find the gun Tonya set down on the coffee table. "Where'd you get that?"

"Negan keeps it in his dresser," She picks it up, "I'll put it back."

"Can I?" I offer out my hand.

"Sure." She hands it over. "Second drawer, left side.

I walk out of the drawing room and go into his bedroom. It looks the same, of course. The scent of him is present. I go over to the dresser, pull open the second drawer, and place the revolver in the left side corner. As I shut it and am about to leave the room, my eyes go to the drawer where I had seen my sonogram weeks ago.

I crane my head to the side to see if I can see the wives, before quietly going over to the bedside table. I stealthily pull the drawer open and find both the sonogram and that embroidery hoop that I did while I was here. I take out the sonogram, looking it over. I could just take it, right? I mean there's a good chance he's not coming back. After a moment's deliberation, I rise and slip it in the back pocket of my jeans, before I exit. I leave the embroidery, because I don't want it hanging up in Dwight and I's room, due to the nature of how it came to be.

Amber's voice sounds harsh and low, like she's panicking. Frankie seems like she's trying to calm her down. When I reappear, Amber looks away and the rest of them straighten up, as if nothing's wrong.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Frankie says.

"Is Negan dead?" Amber blurts out. The other wives glance at her and then me.

"I don't know," I tell her honestly, but it looks that way

"So...what? Simon's taking his place?" Amber scoffs with watering eyes.

"Well, he is second in-"

"What are we supposed to?" She cuts me off. "My mom is sick and needs medication."

"I'm sure Simon will-"

"Will what?" Amber chuckles derisively, before getting up and going over to the bar. "Honor the arrangement I had with Negan?"

"He..." I trail off, not sure I can believe it, if I said he would.

"He won't even help the worker he got pregnant," She bitterly pours some scotch into a tumbler.

"How do you know about Marisol?"

"Negan," Frankie enters the conversation, "He's sort of pissed about it. It's not the first time."

"What?"

"There was a Savior woman who he got pregnant, too," Danica adds, "She took a morning after pill and got really sick afterwards. She was fine, but Negan doesn't like that Simon just sort leaves 'em high and dry."

"...Was her name Laura?" I ask, suddenly remembering Marisol mentioning it a while ago.

"I think so," Danica replies, "She's got all those tattoos."

"That's her." My eyes lower. It's so strange to hear that. I mean, I sort of knew, but Laura and Simon just seems like such an odd combination.

"Simon's gonna put us out on our asses," Tonya claims, "He'll be worse than Negan."

"Well, I don't know if that's-"

"As much as it kills me to admit," She continues, "Negan is a way better leader than Simon."

"How you do know?" I ask, "Simon's never-"

"Because nothing's being done," Hazel interjects, "It's been almost fours hours and they're aren't doing anything about the rotters? We're trapped. Negan wouldn't let that happen."

I huff, "Negan can't magically make the problem go away anymore than anyone else. We'd still be surrounded in."

"So, you trust Simon?"

"No, but...I trust Dwight."

"Dwight?" Frankie knits her brows. "What do you mean? He's not in charge."

"No, but Simon's not necessarily in charge either right now and I trust Dwight is doing his best to keep things in order." I realize their eyes are all on me, taking in my words...perhaps desperately. "He's already voiced himself and Simon seemed to listen."

"How so?"

"Well, Eugene told the lieutenants that it's be a bad idea to try to break the hoard, or use the workers as decoys, so some Saviors could get out to go for help and Dwight agreed and stood up for him. He advocated for working together." The wives appear to be less worried after what I've said, which makes me feel like I'm doing good so far. "Look, I don't know anything with any certainty, but Dwight told me it'd be alright and I trust him, because his word means something."

"Okay," Tonya nods. "So, what should we do? If Negan is dead?" She looks at the others, then back to me. "Amber and Danica relied on Negan for health benefits."

"Um, I don't know..." I put my hand to my forehead, "Um, but we'll figure it out."

"Sherry's sister was diabetic, too," Danica informs me, "Dwight would understand that, right? That I-"

"Of course," I boldly say, "Don't worry, you'll all be fine." I suddenly feel like I'm gonna be sick. "Well, I should go. I just wanted to check you and make sure no one's hurt."

"Thank you," Frankie smiles, "We appreciate it. Glad to know someone's looking out."

I bleakly smile back. "I'll try to keep you posted."

I walk out of the drawing room with a heavy, disappointed feeling. I kind of just lied to them. Do I trust Dwight? Absolutely, no doubt, but I think it may have been wrong to tell them that everything was going to be okay. I still have questions about not only how we're gonna survive our recent predicament, but also what will happen after the hoard is gone. If it ever goes, that is. With the fences down, there's a good chance we might have to leave the Sanctuary. I also have a nagging inquiry in my mind about Negan. Nothing is concrete about his status, but I can't believe he might be gone. It seems unreal to think that he's dead just like that and we're like babes in the woods. Are the lieutenants really that at this much of loss as to what we should do? _Is Negan really the backbone of this place?_

"Nan?" Amber's meek voice halts me.

I look over my shoulder at her. "Yeah?"

"Can you...Can you check in on my mom, please?"

"Oh," I nod my head. "Yeah, sure."

"Thank you." She offers her usual, sheepish smile before turning around.

 **...**

I'm starting to feel the heat of the power shutdown, as I make my way to the quarters to check on Lillian. I guess those big factory fans really contributed to the Sanctuary feeling like an icy tundra most of the time. Now, it's muggy and awful. I know Dwight will be pissed that I went down to the quarters, but Lillian might need some help and it's not like there aren't other Saviors there.

My thoughts drift off to what the girls said a few minutes ago. That Negan said I was giving him a child. _Ugh_. Not only is that wrong, but it's so selfish and unnerving. That's Negan for you. Maybe I should go for that ultrasound, while his whereabouts are still unknown. If he is alive, that would really stick it to him. My mind ponders on the possibility of him being dead, since he's not shown up yet. I suppose...things would be easier for Dwight and I.

A small thud grabs my attention, just after I passed the library. I glance behind me to see that the door's completely shut, which is unusual. A light bulb strikes in my head and I turn around to go inside. I put my ear close to the door and listen for a moment, before knocking lightly.

"Lillian?" I slowly turn the handle, peeking in. "Lillian, are you in here?"

"Are they inside?" She croaks from some unknown place.

I enter the library all the way, still looking for her. "No, they're gone."

"But there's still danger, isn't there?"

"A hoard of the dead is surrounding the factory."

"...Negan?"

"I don't know where he is," I sigh, "Where are you hiding?"

Lillian suddenly appears out from under the metal desk. She looks at me, confounded, but instantly recognizes me. "You're the pregnant wife."

"I'm not his wife anymore."

Her hands are trembling as she rolls them together. "Where's Mark? H-he should have come by now..." She looks up at the clock, "He always comes to get me at five to take me back. It's five-thirty."

"He's busy helping the others," I reply, "I can take you back to the quarters."

"Mark takes me back to the quarters," She very slowly starts to rock herself as her eyes move towards the unbroken windows, "He comes to take me back at five everyday. He's late."

"Lillian, he...Amber told me to come get you."

Lillian's eyes flicker to me. "Amber?"

"Yes," I nod my head; "She said that Mark couldn't make it today, so she asked me if I could take you back?"

She glances me over, discernibly and paranoid. "She said that? To you?"

"Yes."

"You're...you're the pregnant wife," She repeats to herself under her breath, "Negan's pregnant wife. Negan's...Where's Negan?"

"He's...outside."

"Dead?" Her voice cracks. "He's dead?"

My face can't help but to wince at the sound of her confusion and harrowed panic. I don't think she's very lucid. She's normally aloof and wry, but now, in the aftermath of the attack, she's upset about the possibility of Negan's death?

"Dead?" She despairingly says again about her oppressor. "Dead, dead, dead?"

A pang tightens in my lower abdomen and I wince for the discomfort. That one was a little more painful than the others, but not debilitating. "Lillian?"

She keeps muttering to herself in a hopeless break. "Lillian!"

She looks over to me. "You...You're the-"

"I'm Nan," I interject, breathing away the fading cramp, "Amber wanted me to take you back to the quarters." I offer my hand. "Do you want to go back to the quarters?"

Lillian, surprisingly, puts her cold, soft hand in mine. "You're the pregnant wife. Negan's pregnant wife. Where is he?"

"Come on."

Lillian tightens the grip on my hand as we walk, especially when we come across glass shards on the ground. She continues to say nonsensical things under her breath for a little while, but as we tread on, she seems to be calm herself down. She keeps saying I'm "Negan's pregnant wife" or "The pregnant wife" and I don't correct her, because it doesn't seem to do any good. I think she's having a slight episode and I can't find it in me to shake her and yell, "I am not his wife!" Although I want to each time she says it.

By the second floor, a little commotion can be heard in the sound of footsteps. We round the corner and find a small group of Saviors. Not too long after, Reed, Hal, and Laura appear from around the corner on the other end. They all seem to be striding this way with some concern. Lillian's other hand grabs my arm when she sees the crowd.

"The iron," She murmurs, "I told them not to, but they didn't listen. Now look."

"Lillian, it's not that," I relay, look at the gathered with an furrowed inquiry, "It's just..." I can't finish, because I don't know what's going on.

Laura goes into a room. "The workers are coming up the stairs." I hear her say from inside.

"Well, why didn't you stop them?" A woman asks.

"Reed said not to shoot 'em and they aren't taking no for an answer," She reports, "They want to know if Negan's dead."

A bunch of chairs bluntly scoot back and, as if right on time, a crowd of workers clumps into the other end of the hallway.

"The iron." Lillian says.

"It's not the iron." I utter.

The open door brings forth all the lieutenants, Dwight included. Simon puts his hand on his hips, frustrated. "Workers are to remain on the factory floor and ground level gardens," He tells them, "Go back to your activities, or go back to you quarters with a day's pay docked."

"It's too hot," One worker says boldly, "And we sure as hell ain't going outside. When well the power be fixed?"

"It doesn't need fixing," Simon informs, "We're conserving energy. It's a shared sacrifice we all have to share."

"Oh, so you're sharing now?"

"Oh," Simon tilts his head to the side, "That tone just won't work for me." He goes to strike the guy. Dwight steps in and Reed and Hal keep back the few workers that lunged.

"Stop!" Dwight shouts. "Everyone! Look, we can get through this we just need some more time and we _have_ to work together!"

"Where's Negan?" A worker asks. "Is he dead?"

"Listen to the man," A man, Gavin, I think, warns, "And go back to the factory floor."

"The Sanctuary's infested with the dead!" Another worker shouts. "How long until they get into the factory?"

"Why aren't you doing anything?" A third worker adds. "We work in exchange for protection. That's the deal, so why aren't you doing anything?"

"Where's Negan?" Lillian asks aloud, looking over at me. "You're-"

"I'm Nan." I smooth my fingers over her hand that's still gripping my arm.

"Go back to the factory floor!" Simon shouts more adamantly.

"Now!" Regina shouts.

"You're not Negan!" A man shouts. "You aren't in charge. We're not going back."

Simon points to the guy. "I'm gonna correct you on that point."

"Gun!" Laura shouts and that's about the time a worker raises a handgun and fires.

Most of us duck and a moment later, Dwight shouts "Regina, no!" before another gunshot is followed by gasps and a thud.

Lillian breaks, clinging to me, so I awkwardly wrap my arms around her and delicately shush her.

"Now go back to the factory floor!" Regina commands.

But, the workers aren't moving. They don't look afraid; they look angry. The Saviors in the hall start to draw their weapons when, all of the sudden, a cool whistle cuts the tension and raises the hair on the back of my neck. _No, it can't be._ Everyone looks towards the end of the hall, where the whistled tune is accompanied by footsteps. After a third whistle, people start to slowly kneel to the ground. _He's alive_.

I have to sort of pull Lillian down with me. "You have to kneel," I faintly whisper.

"I told them not to," She gravely tells me, "I warned them."

"Sh," I keep my eyes peeled like everyone else, "It's okay."

"You're the pregnant wife. Negan's pregnant wife."

"Lillian!" I put my finger to my lips and then point ahead. That's when I notice Dwight's head turned over his shoulder, staring at me through the crowd between us.

There's one more whistle, before a strange man covered in entails and visceral nervously comes into sight. Followed by Negan. He's also adorned in guts, resting a gory Lucille on his shoulder as he strolls up before us.

"Regina," He speaks, grinning, "Why'd you have to go and do a thing like that?" Nobody says anything, probably because we're all so astounded that he's here and breathing, humor intact. "I guessing a whole bunch you thought I was dead. Chewed up and never to be shit out again. Let me give you a little refresher of who the fuck I am. I wear a leather jacket, I have Lucille, and my nutsack is made of fuckin' steel. I am not dying, until I'm damn good and fuckin' ready. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I am in damn need of a sandwich, a shower, and one of those wilting lion, deep tissue shit that Frankie learned in San Francisco. Hell, I might do it all at once. But afterwards, I have some major fucking buisness to attend to, like talking to my right hand man. "

From the back, I can see Simon lower his head like he's in trouble.

"We're gonna have to figure how the fuck all this could've happend like it fuckin' did. Then we're gonna get bak to what we have always done best; we will save people," He goes to walk off and we all rise.

"Thank you, Negan!" Some unknown voice calls out. "Thank god for you!"

That outcry appalls me to the point that I have to steady myself on the wall as I stand up from kneeling when another, lesser pain hits me. My eyes flit around the hall for whomever might have said and confirmed what I found so unsettling.

Negan stops and look at the crowd with a satisfied smile, before looking back at the man. "Ya see, Gabe. This is why I do what I do." His smile blares towards us all once more. "Gently take him to number two, please. Gently."

Two Saviors make their way through the crowd and walk the man to the right hall. Negan glances over once more, before he heads off to the top. When he does, I can feel myself inwardly despair as his eyes briefly catch sight of me. Our eyes meet and I can see his smile start to dwindle, as if he didn't expect to see me here, or like he's ashamed that I've seen him. Seeing one another is short lived, when Lillian maternally brushes some sweat from my forehead, causing me to look over to her.

"He came in," She tells me, "Like a bird." Her hand suddenly touches mine. "A broken wing, but she said it flew away."

I turn my head, but Negan's gone, so I glance back to Lillian. "Let's get you back to the quarters to rest."

She tucks my hand under her arm and begins to move forward. I sigh heavily; feeling drained all of the sudden. Utterly exhausted. The workers and Saviors disperse from the hall. _Thank god for you?_

Dwight turns and immediately looks at me, but not in a frustrated way like I thought he would. "Hey."

"Hi." I bleakly reply.

He looks at Lillian for a moment, and then returns his eyes to me. "I thought you were gonna go check on the wives?"

"I found Amber's mom in the library on my way down," I inform him, "She needed to be taken to the quarters."

Dwight's brows knit. "Are you alright?"

"She's the pregnant wife," Lillian interjects, then peers at me, "You're Negan's pregnant wife." He raises his brow at her, before glancing at me in question.

I shrug. "She's...ill."

He nods. "So, you're alright?"

I exhale. "Yeah, I'm just...I'm just tired and I..." My throat aches, causing me to sigh because it's aching, "I just want this day to end."

"I'll take her to the quarters," Dwight offers, "You go back to the room and lie down."

"No, I told Amber I would make sure she's okay."

Dwight reluctantly nods his head. "Alright," He lightly puts his hand on my shoulder blade and kisses my temple, "I'll meet you back there."

Some people look at us funny, but I blink to Dwight. "Do you wanna maybe walk with us?"

He looks at my face and I assume he's read something in it. "Okay."

We take Lillian to the factory floor and to her quarter, 76. Workers curiously stare as Dwight stands outside her quarter, while I help her get settled in. I find a poetry book in her milk carton and give it to her to read, which seems to help with her roaming, out loud thoughts. I also poor her some water, shaking off the eyes I feel on me.

After Lillian is occupied, we leave the quarters to go back to our room. I hook my arm in Dwight's and since I feel like I could just drop, I rest my head on his shoulder as we walk. We get more unusual looks, but I'm too tired to investigate them. We're silent as we make our way to our little dwelling space in this ruinous factory. The heat is stagnant and the dead can be very faintly heard snarling outside as they surround our Sanctuary.

"When do you have to meet with him?" I ask as we stroll up on our room.

"Probably an hour, or so." Dwight answers, opening the door.

I groan with my mouth close, going inside. "I just want to crawl in bed and stay there for the next two days."

"I don't know if two days is realistic," He sighs, kicking off his boots and rubbing his face, "But I could use eight hours."

"So, let's go to bed." I suggest, pulling the hair tie off the button on my jeans.

"You go to bed," He sits down in the brown armchair, "I have to go back to the meeting room."

I lay down on the top of our bed. "Come lay with me for a little bit."

"I'll fall asleep, if I do."

My eyelids close without struggle. "He's alive."

"Yeah."

I take a deep breath. "They were glad."

"What?"

"The workers," I murmur, "That lady said; 'Thank god for you, Negan.' They were scared to live in a world without him." _Lost._

* * *

 **Wow, what an episode last sunday. I'm so surprised, yet also excited that they revealed some of Negan's past from the "Here's Negan" arch. I absolutely loved that and I was so proud of my boy, Dwight!**

 **Save Yourself turned one yesterday, the 23rd! Thank you so much to all for read and enjoy my fic. It really is because all of you that this fanfic has gone as long as it has, because I wouldn't have kept writing, if no one kept reading!**

 **Teely: Yes, I know that Nan is super frustrating at times (if not all the time lol). I didn't want her to be this dauntless, apocalyptic queen badass like so many of the wonder female characters in the comic/show, or in many other great fanfics out there. I like characters that are far from infallible and I really like playing around with characters who are strong in other ways than just pointing a gun, or wielding a sword. There's strength in being softer in a world such as the TWD universe, I think. Being said, I know she needs to be more careful, but if she had stayed put like Dwight asked, then there wouldn't have been any insight as to what was going on from the inside of the factory. It would've just been Nan staring at the wall. And her cramps, though you're not too far off track with their sudden arising, are legit functions of pregnancy that she hasn't associated with Negan (yet?) I'm glad my fic mad you roll your eyes and get angry lol! I hope it means I'm doing something semi-right.**

 **Kylo Ren Emily Skywalker: Thanks for reading and enjoying! I update every Friday (or at least try to). Oh, all this good, good stuff with Negan so far is so gonna be fun to tie into Nan. :) You don't have snickerdoodles in the UK? Not even recipes?**

 **CLTex: I know Nan's a bit reckless for running a compromised compound pregnant, but I agree, that is was some necessary, so she'd be able to give perspective on what's going on side. And Harlan is definitely not going to forget about his inquiry of his brother's death…**

 **StTudnoBright: Yes, the drama of Harlan wanting to know is going to be tough for Nan, because she feels he has the right to know, but also doesn't want to come back on Dwight. It's definitely not lost on her that while she's smitten with Dwight, whom she "knows" to be the father of her child, she can't ignore that he has done some really shitty things that can't always be twisted into justification. Thanks for always asking such great questions!**


	41. Uneasy

I shift in my sleep a little at the clank of a pot or pan touching the stove. It's dark in the room, save for a flashlight over by Dwight's figure by the makeshift kitchenette. I lay for a while, observing him, until he turns around. He peers into the fridge that's light doesn't turn on when he opens the door, then rests his arm on the top, leaning his forehead down. He exhales heavily, cursing under his breath, before closing the refrigerator door.

He finally turns towards me, noticing that I'm awake. "We're gonna have to use all the shit that's gonna go bad right away with the fridge down."

"Okay," I push myself up, wiping some sweat from the back of my neck and forehead, "What time is it?"

"Nine o'clock."

"Did you just get in?" I yawn.

"Yeah."

"So..." I remove my shirt, because it's so damn hot in here and walk over to my trunk, "What's the plan?"

"We lure the dead away from Sanctuary and then we retaliate. Get the king, the widow, and Rick and make examples out of 'em."

My stomach turns, but I'm not sure if it's because I'm hungry, or because of what Dwight just said. "Alright, so how are we gonna lure the dead away?"

Dwight scoffs. "We might be able to contact some people in the outposts to drive 'em out with loud sounds."

"Might?"

"We haven't gotten any responses yet."

"What happens when if they don't respond?" I stand in just my bra and undies, looking over in wait for an answer.

Dwight glances at me, as if he's trying to think of how to phrase it. But he sighs, saying, "Then that means they're most likely dead and we're shit out of luck."

"That's it?" I huff, uneasy, "If we can't get help from the outside, then we're screwed?"

"Pretty much...until we find out how to clear them without getting eaten, or shot."

"Shot?"

"Some of the guys that went out in the beginning didn't get bit," He tells me, "They were picked off by some snipers outside around the perimeter and then eaten."

"They're still here?"

"Looks like it."

"We're trapped then." I conclude, putting on a clean shirt.

"Just for the time being," Dwight says with a less sardonic tone, "Things will work out."

"That's rather optimistic."

"Well, I'm not gonna tell you that shit won't get harder, before it gets better, but it's gonna get better."

"Okay," I sigh into a yawn, "How was Negan?"

"Pissed at how things were handled when he was stuck in that foreman's office," Dwight answers, "But he was still Negan."

"Fantastic." I groan, going over to the fridge. "So, what should we use tonight?"

Dwight comes over to the fridge that hasn't lost it's chill yet. "We'll use these. Close the door to keep the cold in."

He makes us a scramble, using eggs, some of the bacon, cheese, and vegetables. We both sit on the bed and eat for a few minutes in tired silence. Despite it being humid inside, my legs have goose bumps. I have more questions, but I don't think I should bombard him with a million inquiries. It's been a long day and both of us are drained. Besides, what's the point in asking anything when the only current events in this place are that Negan's alive and we're stuck inside a factory with no solution on how to get out.

"How are you feeling?" Dwight finally speaks. "Anymore pain?"

"Yeah, but it was nothing," I answer, "Just all the stress I think."

He nods. "He wants to see you first thing tomorrow."

I turn my head his way. "What?"

"Negan asked where you were after the meeting, because he wanted to see you," Dwight informs me with clear annoyance behind his voice, "I told him you were sleeping and that you'd been having cramps all day, but I'd wake you up if he wanted me to. He said he'd let you rest, until tomorrow."

"Dwight, why did you tell him about the cramping?" I ask, with a mixture of irritation and nerves, "It's nothing and it's none of his business."

"It made him leave you alone," He says, "Even if it's just for the night."

"Yeah, but now..." I sigh, moving my fork around my plate, "You shouldn't have told him that."

"I didn't know you wanted to keep it a secret."

I chew the corner of my lip, "He told the wives that he was planning on going to my appointment and find out what I was giving him." Dwight looks at me. "He said I was _giving_ him a child. He still thinks it's his."

"He thinks everything's his."

I abruptly rise, walking my plate over to the sink in a huff. "That's not the point, Dwight. I don't want him to know anything about the pregnancy from here on out, okay?"

"Got it," Dwight replies causally, "But what are you gonna tell the doctor, because I can make shit up, but he won't be able to."

"I don't want to talk about Harlan right now."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't," My hands softly brace the sink and I close my eyes, breathing in slowly and deeply.

"Are you having another cramp?" I feel his hand touch the middle of my back.

I shake my head, exhaling. "No, I'm just tired and angry."

"Let me worry about the dishes," He takes me by the arm, gently turning me around, "You can go back to bed." He brushes a single tear from my face.

"I trust you, Dwight," I rasp to him, "I'm just...I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid," Dwight says in a low, sure voice, "I said things were gonna be better and I'm gonna do whatever it takes to make sure I keep my word that you and the baby will be okay."

"And you, too?"

He inhales through his nose and nods. "Yeah."

"What if when the baby's born, Negan-"

"We got a long time before then, Nan. Let's not rip up the floorboards until things start to smell, alright?"

I lightly smile at that expression. "Shouldn't we fix the problem, before it starts?"

"It'll be fixed before you know it."

"...Okay."

 **...**

The next morning, we wake up almost at the same time. The beeping alarm on his wristwatch wakes me and I wake him as I stir beneath his arm. It almost feels like the routine we had for two weeks, except I'm immediately reminded that I have to go up to see Negan.

However, Dwight and I don't get out of bed for thirty minutes after six. We just lay placid with one another, only saying a few things here and there. I let him gingerly traipse my supple, perspiring flesh, while I gaze at his eyes that appear to follow his fingertips. Occasionally, they'll look to me and a plain smile tips up on his face. When his hand smoothes over my grooved belly, I place mine over his and hold it in place.

"Do you think it'll be a boy, or girl?" I murmur after some time.

"I don't know," He clears his dry throat, "But either way, it doesn't matter to me."

"Really?" I smile, "Most guys want boys, so they can...I don't know, teach them how to throw a baseball, or piss out a campfire fire."

Dwight chuckles. "It doesn't matter to me. I can a teach a girl to throw a baseball."

"Do you know how?"

"Do I know how to throw a baseball?" He smiles, "Yeah, I was starting pitcher in high school."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Huh," I shift to my back, still holding his hand to my tummy, "I played ice hockey."

"You did?" He asks in mild surprise.

"Yep."

"Hockey's a rough sport," Dwight notes, "No offense, but you don't seem like the type."

I snicker through my nose. "I had a lot of feelings that I needed an outlet for."

He scoffs, amused. "Your parents?"

"My mom," I admit, staring at the ceiling, "She had high standards and even higher expectations. Even when I was able to keep up, it never seemed good enough and then I was just starting 'an argument in an empty room' whenever I tried to tell her how I felt. She said I was always trying to make her the bad guy and that she refused to 'play that role' in my narrative."

"And your dad?"

"He always took her side, because she was a psychiatrist and use to tell him I had some sort of disorder, or whatever," I sigh, looking over at Dwight, "I guess I never gave 'em reason to believe otherwise."

"That...that sucks."

"Yeah, but it's whatever now."

"Yeah...what do you for an outlet now."

"Bottle it up until it runneth over, or...sex." I timidly look at him and his face doesn't express any surprise there. He knows that, but he doesn't give me a stern, disapproving look. I wiggle myself closer. "What about your parents?"

Dwight glances down at our hands, before breathing out. "My mom got pregnant with me when she was young and my dad split on Christmas, before I was even one month old and so, she relied on my grandparents to help raise me."

"You never saw your dad again?"

"I did, but it was whenever he felt like showing up and by time I was ten, he stopped coming around."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I brush my thumb against his hand.

"It worked out," He shrugs, "I had a good childhood. My grandpa taught me a lot."

"My grandparents were really special to me, too," I finally remove my hand from his to wipe some sweat from my forehead, "They were good, kind people. My favorite people."

"Where'd you get that?" Dwight lifts my arm by my elbow, observing my newer tattoo with furrowed curiosity.

"Oh, Rett gave it to me," I tell him with some soft blushing, "When I was...with Negan."

"Oh," His finger runs over the decorated skin, "A bird?"

"Mhm."

"Why?"

"Um..." I shake my head, "I heard a story that turned out to be a load of crap. I got this before I found that out." The image of the decayed bird on the ground makes me feel stupid, especially when I remember what I did after Negan told me it had flown away with a busted up wing.

"How'd he do it?"

"Rett? He fastened a machine out of an electric toothbrush."

Dwight grazes his thumb over the tattoo once more, before rolling his eyes. "Did a pretty good job for some hack."

"You don't like Everett?"

"No, I don't."

"Because what he said to you when you went for my underwear?"

He looks at me, mortified. "How did y-"

"He told me."

Dwight irritably sighs, "Asshole." The alarm on his watch goes off again. "I guess we better get up."

"Yeah." I wait for him to move out of bed, so I can get up.

"Want some oatmeal? We got plenty of it."

"Sure, that's fine." I reply as I get into my trunk.

One of the radios crackles. "Dwight, rise and fuckin' shine!"

We both look over at the radio on the small desk in the far right corner. Dwight's eyes flicker my way, before he goes to retrieve the radio. "I'm up," He says to Negan into the radio, "What do you need?"

"I need you to tell that pretty little bookkeeper in your bed to get her ass up top to see me," Negan orders, "Please."

Dwight can't help but to look at me again. I sullenly nod at him. "Alright, I'll wake her up."

"Good boy."

I roll my eyes, proceeding to get dressed. I decide to wear the same pair of jeans I wore yesterday, so I whip them out and give them a good shake. _Oh, shit_. It's then that I see a corner of the thin white sonogram poking out of my back pocket. I forgot that I took it from his bedside drawer. _He knows_. "Shit."

"What?"

"Nothing," I shake my head, "I just don't want to go."

"Want me to go with you?" He comes up behind me and helps me hook my bra, since I'm too agitated to get the bottom two.

"No," I lower my shoulders as I breathe out, "He didn't mention what he wanted to talk to me about, did he?"

"Nope," Dwight slips his hands under my arms and around to my middle, "But you'll be fine, right?" Hs scent engulfs me as I feel his breathe on my neck. "He just wants to make sure you're alright."

"I'd like it if he'd just leave me alone."

"He will soon enough." He releases me and goes over to the kitchen.

"How do you know?"

"Because he's got a lot on his plate to worry about," Dwight offers me a cup of water, "You'll slip through the cracks."

I smile. "Promise?"

 **...**

The aroma of breakfast can be smelt in the stairwell before I make it to the door at the top. I stand right outside it for a few minutes, trying to muster up the courage to open it and go to the top floor. I know he has to know about the sonogram.

"Dwight," His voice comes over the radio again, "Where's our girl at? I told you to send her up a-sap."

I close my eyes for a moment, humiliated, before I open the door, which allows a noise from the door being pushed open.

"Scratch that," Negan says before Dwight can respond, "I think she just came." His chuckling nauseates me.

I tread slowly, pass the bedrooms and the empty drawing room, and follow my nose to the dining room. The double doors reveal the leader at the head of the table, while his wives are seated just where I remember them when I was his wife. One of them anyway. Negan looks over to me and smiles a peculiar smile. It's not his usual asshole smirk like the one I imagine was on his face, when he just told Dwight that I "came" over the radio. This smile is almost genuine, almost glad to see me, which is different from the look he gave me yesterday when we all thought he was dead.

"Good morning." Negan greets.

"G-good morning," I return, a little bewildered. I look to the wives and smile. "Hi."

I get a mixture of hi and good morning from them.

"Ladies," Negan addresses them, "Take your breakfast somewhere else. Give us the room." They all look over, somewhat taken back. "Get out...please."

All five of them collect their plates, silverware, and glasses and file out of the dining room, leaving me alone with him.

"Have a seat."

I stop watching the girls leave and turn my head to him. "What?"

He offers his hand out to the chair I use to sit in during meals. "Sit, have some breakfast." I go over, pull the chair out, and have a seat. It's then I notice that a place was already set for me. "Go on."

"What?" I ask again.

"Eat something," Negan says, sticking a forkful of eggs in his grinning mouth, "Might not get food like this for awhile, so I'd take full fucking advantage if I were you."

I look over all the food glistening in the light of the chandelier and from the morning windows. My stomach betrays me by gurgling, so I make a plate, trying not to acknowledge Negan's eyes on me.

"It's like the good old days, huh?"

"It wasn't that long ago and it wasn't good for me."

"Well, then you are a spectacular actress," Negan chuckles, though I know I've spurred him, "How ya feelin'?"

"Fine," I reply, pushing some butter around my pancakes, "How...how are you feeling?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic," He picks up the coffee pitcher, "Coffee?"

"I can't have coffee," I put my hand over my mug, "Dr. Carson said I have to watch my blood pressure."

He puts the coffee down. "Dwight told me you were having cramps. What's the fucking deal with that? You alright?"

I nod my head, "It's nothing. Just stress, or...Harlan said it was fine."

"The baby's fine?"

I pause my silverware momentarily. "Yes."

"Good." Negan drinks some of his coffee, notably looking off in thought.

"Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

His eyes find me with a solemn expression. "I wanted to see you. Make sure you're okay, given the holy hell that broke out yesterday."

"I'm okay," I flatly report, "Dwight made sure of that."

Negan glances down towards my middle, clearly annoyed at that. "Yeah, D always seems to be on top of things. Can't say that about everyone, but I can sure as shit say it about him."

I chew, taking in his comment. "Who was that man?"

"Gabriel?" Negan goes back to eating, as if this is just a normal breakfast, "Some asshole priest from Rick the Prick's group. He got left behind after trying to save that son of a bitch coward from Hilltop."

"He...he was in the office with you?"

"Yep, that he was."

"So, you were there."

"Yeah, and know one came to get us, so we had to nut up and save our own asses."

I can see the irritation in his brow. "They tried, but they couldn't break through the hoard."

"They thought I was dead."

"Yeah." I mouth under my breath. "Are you going to kill him? The priest?"

"Nope."

"How come?" I ask. Not because I want to see him dead, but because I want to know why Negan's chosen not to kill a man who had a hand in this whole fiasco.

"Because I like Gabe and because if it weren't for him..." Negan stops himself for a minute, before going for his coffee mug, "I'd be munched on by those dead fucks outside right now."

"Are you angry?"

He scoffs, licking his lip. "What the fuck do you think?"

I lower my gaze, aimlessly turning my water glass with my fingers. I guess that was a stupid question. Of course he's angry. In one whole day, the people he thought were weak little pissants destroyed the integrity of the Sanctuary and have prevented us from getting in or out. He was held up in a humid office with one of those pissants, while we all sat with our hands in our pockets. Not to mention the tension building within that will surely increase as food and water decreases.

"So...this is all you wanted?" I peer over to his with earnest question. "To see me?"

"That's right." He says, but in a way that I know is half a lie.

"You saw me yesterday," I remind him, "And I saw you." My mind puts the image of that look he had on his face yesterday. "We saw each other at the end of the halls. Why didn't you come talk to me then?"

"I was covered in entrails and unpassed shit, Anna," He chuckles, "The last thing on my mind after drudging my way through those corpsey pricks is to shoot the breeze with anyone."

"But you had a meeting afterwards. And you wanted to talk to me after that, but Dwight said you were willing to wait until now."

"That was after I had time to decompress." His asshole grin is back.

I put down my fork and knife, put off. "I'm done. Can I go to work?"

"No, you can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you down on the factory floor," Negan curtly explains, "Shit's gonna hit the fan, if we don't figure out how to get the fuck out of here and I don't want you down with the workers when it does hit. Besides, aside from Reed making sure they're all calm and not organizing, there's nothing for you to do. Production's at a halt at the moment."

"So, what am I supposed to do?" I ask curiously.

"Nothing. Well, that is unless you have a plan on how to remedy this shit storm that's brewing."

I shake my head. "No."

"Didn't think so."

I move my glass around again. "Yesterday, when you looked at me." I nervously trail my eyes to meet his that have lost their humor. "How come you looked at me that way?"

"What way would that be?"

"Like I made you...uneasy, or...I don't know."

"Must be in your head," He snickers, taking my hand from the glass, "Because I don't remember looking at you in any special way."

My eyes move from my hand in his up to his gaze. "I didn't say special. I said uneasy." I catch the falter in the glint of his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "Did I make you uneasy?"

Negan leans towards me, "You make me hard," He throatily laughs, "But you don't make me uneasy, sweetheart."

"Then why the look?" I take my hand from his.

"There was no fuckin' look."

I scoot back my chair and stand. "Thank you for the breakfast."

He grabs my arm. "I didn't say I was done talking to you." I reluctantly sit back down and put my sight to my hands in my lap. "The girls told me you came up here yesterday."

My heart picks up at those words. "Yeah?"

"You came to check on 'em?"

"Yes."

"Nan?" The way he says my name makes it clear he wants me to look at him, so I do. His eyes are darkly intense. "Did you go into my bedroom?"

I pick the skin around my thumb. "I was putting your revolver away. Tonya got it out when the shooting started."

"So, that's a long way of saying yes?"

"...Yes."

"And did you...look around while you were in there?" The look on his face tells me I don't need to answer that. "Maybe snooped through my fucking drawers. Looking for something?"

I reach into the back pocket of my jeans, producing the sonogram. I meekly put it on the table, watching how his eyes glance down at it and then back at me with displeasure. "I thought you were dead."

"So, you fucking stole from me?"

"I..." There's a small feeling of fear welling inside me. "I'm sorry, Negan."

Negan studies my faces with his daunting stare, before, surprisingly, his features start to soften. To that same look on his face I know I saw yesterday. A look of being unnerved, or contrite...I think. He lets out a heavy sigh through his nose, taking the sonogram off the table and tucking it in his jacket pocket.

"You can go now," He stands up from his chair, "Thank you for looking out for the girls."

I fumble a little, as I get up, shocked that I'm possibly getting by without consequence. "I'm not in trouble?"

"Not unless you want to be," Negan opens the first door to his room, "Can't say that'll be fuckin' the case next time."

"Wait!" I nearly knock into him when he stops right before entering his room.

"What?"

"Can I...Can I just see it real quick?"

Negan peers over his shoulder, before turning all the way to face me. "I think you're bold as balls to ask after stealing from me like a dirty little fuckin' grave robber."

"I know, it's just..." I honestly can't argue with him on that point, "I didn't get a chance to look at it and I don't know when I'll be able to get another one."

He looks me over, and then reaches into his unzipped pocket. "You won't be getting another one." He hands it to me.

"What do you mean?" My brows gather.

"The power's off until I say otherwise and if and when that happens, I'll be hanging on to all of 'em." Before I have a chance to protest, he adds, "Consider it confiscation after your little act of theft, as well as a far better punishment than me chopping your fingers chopped off."

I close my lips and exhale, looking down to observe the picture. I decide not to feel angry. As much as it irks me, I'm also aware that I've got the real baby and he'll only ever have the sonograms. Still, when I look down at the little entity in the picture, knowing that it's an image of what I'm carrying, I can't help but smile.

"People are gonna die, if we don't work shit out," Negan speaks, "I knew that before I left that fucking office. When I saw you yesterday with Amber's mom, I was reminded that I have to be here to stop it."

That makes me look discernibly up at him, where I find flat, but serious eyes. I nod my head and extend the sonogram his way. "Okay."

"I want you to know that no matter how ugly shit gets," Negan steps closers, "I am gonna live through it and I am gonna make damn sure you and the baby do, too."

"Okay." I murmur, turning my head to the side when it seemed as though he might try to kiss me.

He tucks some invisible strand of hair behind my ear, but I don't convey anything, which by the sound of his breath I think he accepts for now. "You can leave now. Stay off the factory floor."

I turn to go down back to where I want to be. Just before I do, I halt myself. "Negan?"

"What?"

My eyes airily meet his again. "I'm glad you're alright."

I don't stick around for a response; I give a curt, friendly wave to the girls and then let the door shut behind me on my way down.

 **...**

"It's hotter than fucking hell in here!" Hal gripes. "Ow, careful!"

"It's just some rubbing alcohol and gauze, you big baby." I gingerly tap some of the strong scented stuff onto a cut on his forehead.

"You remember that when I have to clean your wounds."

I snicker, unwrapping a butterfly bandage. "There. All better."

"Thank you."

"I was worried about you, handsome."

"Worry not," Hal retorts, "This injury is self-inflicted."

"I can't believe you ran into the railing."

"This fucking place has a lot of safety hazards."

"Yeah, hence all the old factory warning signs."

Hal laughs, looking about the room. "Huh."

"What?"

"Don't know, it feels a bit strange to be here?"

"How do you mean?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I've never been in Dwight's room. It's odd, especially since you live here and I can tell you live here."

"How can you tell I live here?" I smile.

"The trunk." He smirks and we both laugh. I nudge him on the shoulder, giving him a fraternal kiss on the head.

The door opens and Dwight enters. "Hi," I say.

"Hi," Dwight replies, looking over at Hal, "Hi."

"Hello." Hal greets back, standing up from the chair. "I'll see ya later, Anna. Thanks for patching me up."

"Bye, Hal." My eyes follow him to the door, before blinking to Dwight. "Hungry? I was just about-"

"No, I'm fine." He sits down in the armchair.

I glance down at him from where I stand. "You alright?"

"Yeah." He says shortly.

I step from the side of the chair and sit on the side of the bed. "You know Hal and I are only friends, right?"

"What?" Dwight furrows his brows, and then raises them. "Oh, yeah, I know."

"I thought maybe you were upset that he was here."

"No, I don't mind," He answers, leaning back in the chair, "I trust you."

It feels good to hear that. I smile and carefully incline onto the chair, straddling him. "You smell good."

"I was just smoking," His hands snake around to my back, "I smell like cigarettes."

"I like that smell sometimes," I push his hair back behind his ears, before tenderly kissing his lips.

"What are you doing?" Dwight breathes against my mouth.

"We haven't had sex since I moved back in," I murmur, kissing him again, "I figured since we're both down for awhile, maybe we could...pass the time."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Nan," He says, smiling into my next kiss.

"Why not?" I look down at him. "Because I'm pregnant? We can still have sex; we just have to go slow."

"I know that," Dwight chuckles softly, "But you've been having cramps and I think we should hold off, until you're in the clear."

"I haven't had any today," I put my mouth on his, trying to enticing him, "They passed."

"I'd feel better, if we waited."

I sigh, touching my forehead to his. "Okay," I climb off of him, "Maybe you're right."

"It's probably nothing, like you said," Dwight stands up, stealthily adjusting himself as he goes to the fridge, "But it's doesn't hurt to be cautious."

I watch him uncap a beer. "Did you go down to the quarters?"

"I passed by on the catwalk" He tells me, "Like you asked."

"And?"

"And... Amber's mom appears okay. Kept wondering why she couldn't go to the library, I think her neighbor's looking out for her though."

I nod my head, glad. "And Marisol?"

"51, right?" Dwight tips back his beer. "She seemed fine as far as I know."

"Thank you."

"Sure," He steps to the side, so I can get into the fridge, "So, how did things go this morning?"

I close the refrigerator door. "It was okay."

"What'd he want?"

"Um, just to see if I was okay," I tell him, "He wanted to make sure my cramps were nothing and..."

"And what?"

 _Be honest_. "He said that if things go bad in here, he's gonna live and he's going to insure that me and the baby will be alright."

Dwight scoffs, but after looking at the curious expression on my face, looks away. "We should probably fill up some containers with water, before it runs out."

"Okay."

"I got it," He comes over to the kitchen area.

"No, I can do it."

"It's gonna get heavy, Nan."

"Fine." I put my hands up in surrender. "The showers will stop, too?"

"Probably," He nods, "...I'll fill one up for bathing."

"We can use it after to water the garden."

"All the gardens are outside."

"Yeah," I grin, "Maybe we should wash up before dinner?" I slide my hand up his shirt.

He smiles, as he turns on the water. "You can wash up real quick, if you want, while I'm filling the water."

"Or you could wash me," That sounds so corny, but it must have cute, because he laughs.

The bass trophy on the wall shifts again, making us both look over. Dwight goes over to adjust it, but it, persistent, rocks back again.

* * *

 **A short, sort of sweet chapter that I hope you all enjoy!**

 **Guest: I don't think Negan's fully convinced about Eugene either, but he knows he's smart and him falling for Eugene's lie is only what Nan believes is certain. I'm happy you liked Dwight's interactions with Nan last chapter and the PDA! It is cute.**

 **CLTex: I'm glad you like Nan's POV of the worker scene, as well as the looks and utterances that both the wives and Lillian were vibing out to Nan. It could be foretelling...or it could be just factory gossip that everyone is choosing to believe.**

 **StTudnoBright: Negan's "look" was sort of explained this chapter, but he didn't fully express himself to her, I feel. I wanted his behavior to be somewhat uneasy around her. And Negan telling the wives Nan's "giving" him a child is so his attitude towards the pregnancy, which may or may not be a bad thing...**


	42. He Wouldn't

"Why am I even doing this?" I think out loud, as I wring the sopping rag into the bathing bucket Dwight drew last night from the sink. "It's so hot in here, I'm sweating while bathing."

I wipe the rag along the back of my neck, then hang it on the side of the bucket, so I can lather up some soap. I'm standing on a towel, so the water absorbs into it, instead pooling on the floor. Dwight warmed up some of the water this morning before I woke up, so I could bathe. He washed his face and neck, as I undressed from my underwear and shirt.

"Yeah, but at least you're getting to bathe." Dwight says behind me.

"Hey, don't remind me how much more better off I am than others, while I'm standing naked in front of a bucket."

He laughs. "Wanna use the rest of the bacon?"

"Oh, yeah," I run the soap along my tummy, "That sounds good."

"Oatmeal?"

"Mhm."

I have to admit, even if this is a pointless "bath", it is nice. The whole factory is hotter than hell in Virginia and I am sweating while I wash, but the air touching the water on my bare skin gives me a momentary relief from the heat. I'm also aware, thanks to Dwight, that it wouldn't have been likely possible if I wasn't where I am right now.

I drag the soap quickly along both my legs, watching the suds glisten my skin. When I get to the butterfly tattoo above my knee, I pause for a moment. I read the Latin words along with it. _Lucter et Emergo._ I furrow my brows at the words, suddenly thinking about the dream I had a little while ago. " _What does your knee say?"_ I hear Charlie's words in my head. " _Take the advice on your leg."_

A light knock on the door stills us both. I immediately look for my towel, already embarrassed before I know who it is. Dwight hands me the towel, as he passes me to answer the door. He looks over at me wrapping the towel around my body, waiting until I have it secured, before opening the door a crack. He peers between the opening, before slowly opening it a little more, revealing Tonya with a small basket in the crook of her elbow.

"Um, good morning." She oddly smiles at Dwight, before looking in on me. "Oh, is this a bad time?"

"No," I shake my head, stepping away from the bucket, "I was just...washing up."

"Oh..." Tonya's eyes give Dwight a quick look over, as she nods, "Okay. I forgot that the water was supposed to be shut off."

I'm puzzled by her statement, looking quickly at Dwight myself. He glances away like he knows something, as well as unsure of what to make of Tonya's presence. "So, what brings you here?"

She slides the basket handle from her arm, opening up the lid and removing a bottle of wine from the basket. "I brought you some things. You know, like a little care basket." She extends it forward. Dwight takes it and hands it to me.

"Thanks, that's...sweet of you."

"Well, I was on my way to see Eugene about my boom box," She explains, entering the room, "And I told Negan I would take it down to you." She momentarily looks at Dwight whose eyes flicker to me. "I figured you might prefer me over him."

"Thank you." I say again. It is ideal. "So, this is from him?"

"Well, from all of us, but he was the one who told us to scrape some things together for you, since things are gonna tight around here."

"Oh." I nod my head.

"So, yeah, I'm gonna go now," Tonya turns for the open door, sensing the awkwardness, "See ya around, Nan. Bye, Dwight."

"Bye, Tonya." I smile after her, before Dwight closes the door. My smile diminishes and I go over to the armchair to sit down and open my basket. Dwight returns to making breakfast.

"What'd ya get?"

I pull back the little lid and peer inside. A cake of soap that perfumes the whole basket with a sweet, green smell, two jars of olives, a jar of what looks like marmalade, some rolls that are possibly stale, a hunk of cheese, some aspirin, a comic book, and a pair of light blue socks.

"Too bad she took the bottle of wine," I lightly joke, "We could've had a picnic."

He scoffs, somewhat humored. "Maybe later."

I set the basket down. "Maybe I should distribute it to the workers."

Dwight looks over his shoulder. "Why?"

"Because I shouldn't accept anything from him," I answer, "It comes with a price."

"Food's gonna get scarce, Nan," He brings me a bowl of oatmeal with two strips of bacon crumbled on top, because that's how the baby has decided I like it now, "It might not be a bad thing to just bite the bullet and accept it. Especially, in your case."

"From Negan?"

Dwight sits on the arm of the chair, glancing down at me with some discomfort. "He and the wives are the only ones who don't have to ration, at least not as much."

I scoff, angered. "So, the water's not been shut off, has it? Everyone's just being told that, so they can have it?"

"No, they are cutting back on water, just not as much and, well, on food...not so much."

"Then why did you fill up these buckets, if you knew the water wasn't being turned off?"

"Because _we_ are preserving water."

I shake my head in disbelief. "That's taking from everyone else, Dwight," I argue, "We're all cutting back to keep things stable and he's not? He doesn't need as much as some people! He's got a full bill of health, meanwhile-"

"I know, honey, but it's not like anyone's gonna tell Negan that."

"Someone should." I murmur, mixing my bacon into my mound of brown sugar oatmeal.

"Not you."

"I know," I glance over at him with furrowed brows, "Did you call me honey?"

He shyly looks into his bowl, realizing it. "Oh, sorry."

"No, no, it's...it's okay."

We're both quiet for a little while, eating our breakfast as we both try to wrap our heads around that. I like being with him, but it feels so strange to be called 'honey' by him. A simple, apparent accidental term of endearment seems like such a hefty milestone. Maybe it's nothing...maybe I'm just being silly. _Hopeful_.

That bass trophy tilts with gravity again. Dwight gets up to fix it. "Shit," He gripes below his breath when it won't behave.

"Maybe you should just take it down off the wall." I suggest.

"I just need to get a different nail."

"Well, take it down until then," I tell him.

"Nah, it's fine, just hanging as is until I fix it."

"Then stop trying to set it straight." I giggle, watching him trying to carefully adjust it.

Dwight walks away from it, offering to take my bowl as he passes. "I should get going."

"Going? Negan said the factory was down until we solve the roamer problem."

"That doesn't mean everyone's out of work," He changes his shirt, "We still have to barricade the entrances to make sure the dead don't push through and try to figure out how to get them away from the Sanctuary."

"Still no plans?"

"Nope." Dwight shakes his head, not appearing worried like I am.

"The dead could still break through the barricades though, right?"

He looks over to me. "Sure, but we'll figure it out before then."

"How do you know?" I ask, a tad frustrated. "You keep saying that, but things haven't been worked out, yet."

"Rome wasn't built in a day."

"The Roman Empire fell, D."

"Yeah, but not in a day." He smiles.

I chuckle, taking my towel off so I can dress. "Well, have fun."

 **...**

Around eleven in the morning, I decide to get off my ass and go to see the doctor. I know we're not allowed to ask for meds unless it's a life or death situation, but I'm out of my prenatal vitamins. Those aren't necessarily precious to anyone here except Marisol and I. I'm having Dwight check on her and Lillian again today to make sure they're alright. I've decided not to push two sets of buttons by going down there. I don't know who I'm more worried about angering, Dwight, or Negan. _Definitely Negan._

"Hello?" I knock on the infirmary door. "Dr. Carson?"

"Hello, Nan," Harlan politely greets me with a quiet voice, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," I smile, before I see the man laying in the hospital bed, "I...I just came for more vitamins."

"You have to have permission from Negan to get anything out of the cabinet." Harlan conveys with an apologetic grin.

"Even vitamins?"

"Afraid so."

"Would it count, if I said I was Negan?"

He smiles, amused. "I need consent from the real Negan."

I look back over at the man in the bed. "Is this the guy who was with Negan?"

"This is Father Gabriel," Harlan introduces me to the sleeping man, "He's got a intestinal infection and I need to go down to the market to see if there's anything I can scrape up for him, since we are low on meds."

"Oh," I nod my head.

"Well, if you'd like to go ask Negan, I'd be happy to get those vitamins for you."

"Okay." I exit the infirmary to go back to my room to get the radio I left there.

I figured I would just ask him over the walkie. Then again...that would project my business over the radio and to anyone who has one. I don't want people hearing our conversations. I'm still pissed that he radioed for me yesterday morning. It makes it known to everyone in the Sanctuary that I'm still tethered to Negan, despite my attempts to sever that tie. Makes me feel like I'm some pet dog that he allows to wander off, until he whistles for me.

I know it has to piss off Dwight. Having two women that he's been close to be bedded by Negan and unable to forget that, because Negan is always there to remind him. Especially, now that I'm pregnant and there's a fourth party in the mix. Still, he said he never saw me with a repulsive lens. That only the mental image of Negan being in bed with me makes his stomach sick. Negan was the sour element, not me. I'm glad he isn't ashamed, or disgusted with me like I thought he would be. I'm glad he wants to be with me the way I want to be with him. That he's forthcoming and kind; tender and mild. Willing to take care of me, even when I protest, and doesn't act like it's an extra mile that I owe him for. _And he called you honey_.

I feel my lips form a little smile as I approach our door. When I'm close enough, I make out what sounds like Eugene's monotone coming from inside. I stop just before I open the door, leaning in to listen.

"And if you cease and desist, I will remain keeping your secret under lock and key. You have my word on that." What?

"Do you realize what's at stake, if you do figure out how to get us out?" Dwight's voice asks. "All the people that would die?"

"I intend to save people, Dwight," Eugene says back, "I realize all the people that will die, if we don't get out of this pickle, myself included, and that is precisely why I cannot condone, or allow your backstabbery and Judas-esque shenanigans to continue." Dwight goes to say something, but is immediately cut off. "I am also aware that your girlfriend does not know the 4-1-1 about your hazardous activities and I am under the impression that you wish to keep her out of the line of fire, which I fully get."

"Are you threatening her?" Dwight's tone sharpens. I look left to right to make sure no one's coming.

"On the contrary, I am not and would not put a pregnant woman's life in jeopardy," Eugene calmly answers, "I am merely informing you of the danger you impose on her, if I am forced let the cat out of the bag, or should your plans backfire. Which they will."

The door suddenly opens and I'm embarrassed to face both men as they see me standing there in the hall. Not to mention doubly confused. Eugene nods at me and goes around me as he exits. I look down the hall for a second, watching him stalk off, before turning my gaze to Dwight, who's standing inside, staring at me.

I go inside, shutting the door behind me. "What's going on?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "What do you mean?"

"It sounded like you aren't friends anymore."

"We were never friends," Dwight runs his knuckle under his nose, nonchalant, "All I did was agreed with him."

"Well, two days ago, he was giving you a jar of pickles and from what I heard out in the hall, he was just giving you some type of ultimatum."

"It was nothing," He sits down on the edge of the bed, "He asked what I thought of his plan on how to get out of here and I told him it wasn't any good and people would die."

"What was the plan?" I inquire.

"He wanted to send someone out, covered in rotter guts, to move against the crowd and then run for help." Dwight tells me rather quickly.

"It could work."

"We can't risk opening up any of the passages."

I glance over him as he looks casually back at me. "I heard him say he would oust you. What was he talking about?"

Dwight looks over to clock on the shelf. "Nothing."

"Really?" I scoff incredulously.

"Negan threatened to kill him, if he couldn't come up with an idea on how to break out," Dwight explains to me, "His back's up against a wall, he's desperate and, he's trying to save his own ass. Anyway he can."

"So, how does that involve you?"

He shrugs again. "It doesn't. He's just grasping at straws."

I sigh, "Dwight, he said you were up to something and that I-"

"He thinks I'm the rat." Dwight says.

My brows gather even more. "What?"

"He thinks I'm the one that helped Rick and all those other people set this up."

I huff, "That's ridiculous."

"Yeah, it is." He agrees.

"Why would he think that? Why would he just outwardly come here and accuse you?"

"Because he's a coward, Nan," He stands up from the bed, "He's scared that Negan's gonna kill him and he's willing to do anything to prevent that from happening."

I look his stature over. "You would tell me, if you were, right?"

He comes over to me. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Good," He lightly plants his mouth on mine, "Because, I wouldn't put your life in danger."

A sensual feeling ripples down me and I shut my eyes when he breaks away and goes over to the kitchen. "What are you doing here? I thought you were gonna help with the barricades."

"I came back to check on you," He spreads mayonnaise on a slice of bread, "But, you weren't here. I was about to fix something to eat, when Eugene knocked."

"Well, I was just at the doctor's for more prenatal vitamins," I inform him, "But-"

"You need permission from Negan."

"Yeah..." I observe his aloof movements, "I thought I would come back for the radio, but I think I should just go ask him in person."

"Considering you need written consent, I think that's a good idea." He retorts.

"Well, alright," I feel myself becoming angry, "I guess, I'll go find him."

"He's in the meeting room."

"In a meeting?"

"Nope, just there...thinking, or some shit."

I sigh heavily. "Okay."

Just as I'm about to leave, Dwight calls out, "Wait."

"What?" I look over.

He runs his hand down his mouth, frustrated. "Do you wanna maybe eat something before you go?"

I glance at the sandwich he's making. "I'm not hungry."

"Alright," Dwight goes back to fixing the sandwich.

"Hey, where's that messenger, or duffle bag of yours?" I ask, which prompts him to look over at me. "You know, the green one? You had it when we went to Alexandria that one time."

"Oh, uh, I don't know, why?"

"I saw just wondering if I could borrow it, because I was gonna get the vitamins and then maybe see if I could get some things from the commissary."

Dwight knits his brows. "You don't have to get things from the commissary. We're fine for now."

"I know, but I was gonna try to trade with some of the workers," I reply, "Resources for some...things."

"Everything's being rationed and costs are temporarily down to keep them compliant," Dwight utters, "What things?"

"Just...things?"

"Nan?"

"I was gonna see if maybe there's some things, you know, for the baby."

"Like what?"

"Like...old clothes I can sew to fit a baby and some gas tablets." I sat the last part under my breath.

Dwight looks me over. "Stay out of the quarters, Nan."

I exhale, annoyed. "I know things are tough right now, but if we treat them like dogs, then they're gonna lash out."

"Well, it won't be while you're down there, because you're not going down to the factory floor."

"You know what? I'm not a child, Dwight."

"No, but you're carrying my child and I don't want either of you to get hurt, because you're trying to mingle with the workers."

I bite my lip. "Well, I-"

"I told you I would check on Marisol and Lillian and I did and they're fine," He says, knowing exactly what I was about to argue next, "And I'll go by again tonight."

I bring my lips to a close, choosing not to say anything more, despite being angry enough.

 **...**

I have to pass the main hub to get to where Negan is. Mark passes me on the catwalk, doubly glancing at me as he does. I stop for a moment when I see the shadows of the dead, slapping their hands against the windows of the front end. Laura stands with Eugene, staring as some Saviors secure the barricade on the door.

Next, I look down at the workers in their quarters, as I continue on my path. A few of them appear as if they're trading with one another, or trying to anyway. Others rifle dejectedly through their belongings, looking for food, or peering into their water containers. I hear a couple hag-like coughs and throat clearing. I see Lillian to be one of those coughers, as she attempts to read from a book on her floor mattress. When I find Marisol, she's offering some of the fruit she has in her possession to a few of her neighbors, who shake their heads. An old woman points to Marisol's pregnant belly as she speaks what I can't hear from here.

"What?" Negan growls from inside the meeting room.

"It's me," I rasp, clearing my throat, "Nan."

"...Come in." He permits with a less grouchy tone.

I open the door and find him alone in here, sitting at the head of a long table. I grip the strap of the canteen that Dwight gave me before I left. "Um, hi."

"Well, well, well," Negan grins, "What a pleasant surprise! What can I do ya for?"

"I need-"

"Yeah, of course, you fuckin' do." He cuts me off, lowering his grin.

"W-what?"

"You were about to say you needed something from me," Negan relays, rolling Lucille with his gloved hand on the table, "Why the fuck else would you be here?"

I'm a little thrown off by his attitude, considering he didn't let me finish. "Well, I-"

"I had the girls fix you up a little basket of goodies and even threw in my bottle of aspirin, in case you had anymore cramps rolling through, and what? Not fuckin' good enough?" He reads my bewildered face and scoffs, "Shit's being rationed until we get out of this hellhole of a situation, Nan, so you'll have to be grateful with what you got, which is a hell of a lot more than the zilch everyone else got."

"I am grateful." I can feel warmth spread through my cheeks at his callous words. "I was just gonna ask if I could get more prenatal vitamins from the infirmary."

Negan looks me over. "Prenatals?"

"Yes," I huff, touching my stomach, "But I won't ask. I'll just leave you alone."

"Stop." He softly orders, as I go to leave. He motions with two fingers, "Come here." I curiously approach the table, watching him fish out a notepad from his pocket. "Find me a pen, would ya?"

My eyes search the room for a place where a pen might be, until I spot the cabinets on the other end of the room. I hurry over and get inside, shoving things around, until I find a blue pen under some papers.

"Hustle!" Negan calls with some mild humor in his throat.

"Here." I hand him the pen.

He scribbles on a piece of paper, ending with a hasty signature. "Alright, there you go." He rips the slip off the pad and offers it to me. In hindsight, I probably should have predicted that he would quickly snatch it back as soon as I went to take it. "Say the magic words."

"Please."

Negan holds out the paper and I take hold of it but he hasn't let go. "And?"

I feel my nostrils flare as I exhale. "Thank you."

He smiles a toothy smile, releasing the paper. "I love hearing you say those words."

I glance down at the note. "A whole bottle?"

"Isn't that what you normally take?" When I peer back up at him, his smile picks up, "I read the logs."

"Do you make it a habit of watching what I acquire?" I airily mutter.

"I do." He boldly admits.

This makes my brows puzzle. "Why?"

"Because I'm nosy and because I can."

I nod my head, trying not to roll my eyes. "I think maybe I should only take a week's worth."

"Why is that?"

My mouth twists to the side. "Because there's a worker that will need them, too, and-"

"We've got seven bottles and each hold a two months supply," Negan educates me, "I think she'll be fine. Worry about yourself and our little bun."

I almost correct him on what the definition of "our" means to me in regards to this baby, but I don't want him to revoke my paper for the vitamins. "She's carrying twins." His smile dwindles and I know it's pissed him off. Not at me, but just maybe at the person who made her pregnant with twins. "She probably needs them more than I do."

"Well, as altruistic as that sounds," Negan huffs, "She will be fine."

"How do you know?" I ask, crossing my arms, "How do you intend to make sure that's the truth?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are, questioning to me like that?"

I sigh, glancing down at the marked, scratched to hell part of the table in front of him. "Someone has to look out for her. For them."

"Them?" Negan stands up from his chair. "You mean _my_ people?"

I scoff. "Yeah, I guess."

"What does that fucking mean?" He strolls over to me, Lucille in hand.

"Nothing, I should go."

"You should've before you opened your mouth," He puts her up to block me from turning to leave, "But you chose to flap your lips, so explain yourself, Nan."

I tuck the note in my pocket. "I didn't mean anything."

"See, I think you did," Negan towers over me, bringing my gaze up from under my chin, "Otherwise, you would have said 'thank you so graciously, Negan', maybe have given me an appreciation blow, and then been on your merry way. But, you didn't do that."

God, I want to hit him, but instead I gently, but clearly move his fingers from under my chin. "I just meant..."

"You just meant what?"

"You told people the water was being shut off," I meet his hard gaze, "But it wasn't. You lied."

"We have to preserve water, but we also need water to live now, don't we?"

"Or, so you and the girls can shower?" Negan's smile doesn't convey anything either way, so I continue. "That's not only bullshit, it's unfair."

"Unfair?" Negan chuckles. "And how the hell do-"

"Because we're all rationing and you aren't. That's not fair, not when you know things are gonna run out," A sudden surge of anger begins to bubble inside me, "You don't want them to organize and overthrow the Saviors, to overthrow you, but you're not acting like it by still living like a king and letting the Saviors treat the workers like shit. For Christ's sake, Regina wanted to shove them out there like bait, so we could send a Savior for help. Your people are divided, because you made it that way, so if the workers organize; it's because you made them feel like that was the only way to survive." His face is a scowl that may promise trouble, if I continue. "Because you let them down...after they clearly have faith in you."

Negan sucks air in through his teeth, making an unpleased sound. "You know what? I think you need a time ou-"

He stops mid-sentence at the sound of gunfire. We both look at the windows behind him. It sounds like the shooting is coming from both inside and outside the factory. Negan stalks over to the windows and peers outside. "What the hell?"

"What is it?" All those guts I had a few seconds go sink.

"Shit!" He curses.

I come forward and look out through a square to see a large truck driving towards the factory. "It's them?"

"Looks like it," Negan unclips the radio from his belt, "They're gonna ram the fucking side of the factory; let all those fucking dead assholes in." He presses the button on the side of the radio. "The truck's gonna hit the factory! Start evacuating all the workers off the factory floor now!"

Right as he finishes, the building is hit. A large boom rumbles the factory, even making Negan and I feel it in our legs. He puts his arm out to steady me, even though I don't need steadying, before looking out the window again. A barrage of screams and gunfire infests the air, which has to mean that all we've been fearing is finally happened; the dead have entered the factory.

Negan takes long, purposeful strides to the door. "Don't fucking leave this room!" And just like that, he's shut the door behind him and left me alone.

I clasp my hands together, nervously wringing them where I stand. I don't have a gun, or knife or anything that I could use as a weapon, if the dead should find their way here. A small pain hardens in my stomach, but I know it's just fear and gas.

I can't believe they came back so soon to finish the job. Dwight said they wouldn't, but they have. They could've just waited. With supplies and resources depleting and the dead urging to get in, we couldn't have lasted more than a day, or two, unless we surrendered to the rebelling communities. And then what? What would happen if we did that? I remember Rick shouting from outside how only Negan had to die. Would that be true, or was it just a trick to get us to open the up the gates they've now destroyed?

My mind weighs on the damage the Saviors and Negan has done to those people and if all that can be absolved. If they can forgive all that's transgressed between our communities and exist with us in the world after. And Dwight? I'm heavily reminded that Dwight has caused just as much pain and death as any of the Saviors have and a bulky gloom weighs my shoulders down.

Right as I'm on the brink of tears, the door opens and Negan renters. "Jesus." He gripes under his breath.

"What's going on?"

"A fuck ton of dead versus a fraction of us." He plops down at the head, angrily whacking Lucille onto the table. "Bring me that canteen of yours."

I walk over, shrugging the canteen from across my body. "Here." Negan takes the canteen, uncaps it, and tilts his head back for a drink. "How come you're not helping them?"

"Because they don't need me to fuckin' hold their hands," He crosses one leg over the other, "My people are strong, unlike Rick's bucket of assholes, so I know they'll get shit done and persevere."

"Without you?"

Negan scoffs into a chuckle, looking up at me. "No, not fucking without me. With, and only with, my leadership."

I accept the canteen back, contemplating taking a sip myself. "So, I guess I'm stuck here?"

"You guessed correctly, darlin'," He displays a hand out towards a chair to his right, "So, have a seat."

I almost refuse, but what good would that serve? I'm probably gonna be here awhile. I take my time treading over to the chair and as I reach it, I decide to causally waltz down further towards the end.

"Afraid I have cooties?" Negan snickers, "I think you of all people would know that I don't."

I don't reply to that, I just lightly touch the tops of the chairs as I continue my way to the other end of the table. "So, Harlan said that that priest is really sick."

"Yep, what a let down," He rolls Lucille on the table again, "I was looking forward to working on him."

"Working on him?" I arch my brow.

"Yeah, I was gonna work my magic on him like I did Eugene and tried to do for Sasha and Daryl, but I guess I can't do that if he fuckin' dies." His eyes sink down to the bat chipping the table. "Then again, maybe it's for the best."

The chair screeches as I bring it back from the table to sit down. "Why is that for the best?"

"I don't know what wild hair crawled up your ass," Negan says with a daunting tone, "But I'd fucking cut the shit, Nan. I'm really not in the mood and you're starting to piss me off."

I place a hand on my developing tummy, tapping my fingers. "I was thinking of somebody."

Negan looks me over from the other end. "The pregnant worker?"

"And Amber's mom," I reply, "I bathed this morning. From a bucket of water Dwight warmed for me. We joked about it being a privilege, but the truth is is that it is." Negan just stares at me, leaning back in his chair. "So, if and when this whole thing is settled; I'm gonna give that basket to the workers and I'm gonna make sure they're well looked after, because I don't like it when others have to go without, while I get to laugh over warm water and a hot meal."

Negan's eyes go from left to right in a careful furrow. I don't know if I should be afraid of his silence, but if I should, it's blocked out by the fervor I still feel for what I've said. Brazen and stupid, sure, but I meant it and I won't apologize for telling him so. His finger taps on the table, contemplating, or furious, I can't tell.

Someone knocks and it draws his set eyes away from me. "Come in." The door opens and Eugene comes in, slightly knitting his brows when he sees me in the room. "What have you got for me, Eugene?" Negan asks, still serious. "The dead have already gotten inside, so I'd say you are crunched for time, if not out of fuckin' time, so it better be good, for your sake."

Eugene doesn't falter his expression. "It's better than good."

 **...**

"That's gonna take an ass load of ammo," Negan tells Eugene, after Eugene laid out his plan on how we can get rid of all the dead, "But you think it will work?"

"Affirmative," Eugene replies, "With the appropriate amount of bullets and the right positioning of shooters, it is a fool-proof, sure thing of a success."

Negan walks around the table, behind me, as I remain seated. "Can my bullet maker whip me up a batch of hellfire like that in a short amount of time?"

"If you get me to my machines, or my machines to me, I will be able to with the assistance of a few workers, if they can be spared."

"Damn!" Negan looks down at me with a bright smile, as if he's seeing if I'm just as impressed as he is, before peering back over to Eugene. "You're aware of the shit storm I'm gonna dump on Rick and your friends, as soon as I get out of the shit storm he's fuckin' dumped on me, right? Are you gonna be alright with that?"

"They were former traveling companions," Eugene coldly replies, "Nothing more."

"Shit, how does it feel to be the second most important person here?" Negan charms, "How does it feel to save people?"

"It feels good." He offers a smile. "And I have some information that will solve an additional problem of ours that will insure further success."

"There's more?" Negan's smile grows, "All this spectacular news and you've got one more for me? What could beat all this?"

Eugene's eyes flicker to me momentarily. "I have come into some information about-"

A pounding on the door interrupts him and Negan sighs, irritated. "What?"

Regina opens the door and she, Gavin, and Dwight walk in. "The dead have taken over the factory floor. Where should we stick the workers?"

Negan scoffs, but before he retorts, he briefly glances at me. "I want you to _house_ the workers in the east wing for now, but let 'em know they will be returning to their quarters shortly, because you see, Eugene here has solved all our problems. He has devised a plan on how to get us out _and_ he says he has a topper!"

"Oh, yeah?" Dwight says, turning his head to glance at Eugene. His eyes meet mine for a split second, but I know what I saw in them and it disturbs me.

Eugene peeks my way, before returning his gaze towards Negan. "I've figured out how to repair the intercom system. It will improve our communication system."

Negan exhales, disappointed. "That's it?"

"It may not be the most exciting news, but it cranks my shaft," Eugene turns around, "I have to get to work."

"Well, that was fucking underwhelming," Negan looks over at me, "You, my dear..." He brushes my ponytail from my shoulder, "Are free to leave." I take my hand off my stomach and rise from my chair, eager to finally leave this room. "D, make sure she gets back."

Dwight nods, not at all opposed to that. I wrap my arm around his as we both pivot to go through the open door. As we head towards our room, we have to pass the death crowded floor below us, as Saviors continue to shoot the ones that try to maneuver over the piled up rotters at the bottom of the stairs. I can see a few below, bent over bodies, using both hands to ravenously feast on the bloody parts and entrails of whoever didn't make it upstairs.

He doesn't say anything, which makes me apprehensive about saying anything myself. I mean, I don't know what to say, nor do I feel compelled to say anything at the moment, if I did. Dwight opens the door and leads me into our room, where he slips from my grasp. I hold each of my elbows, comfortingly as I observe him pace towards the closet.

"Eugene's plan seems like a pretty good one," I finally say, "I think it'll work."

Dwight scoffs. "Stay away from Eugene."

"What?" I knit my brows, "Why? Because of what he said this morning?"

"He almost told Negan I was the mole." He turns to look at me, hands on his waist.

"How do you know?"

"Because..." Dwight's eyes glance down, "Look, he chickened out, but he was thinking about it."

"But then you walked in," I draw the same conclusion, remembering how he glanced at me, before he was about to tell Negan the "topper."

"Yeah," He acridly nods his head.

"I don't understand," I rasp, "H-he figured out how to get us out of here. That's what Negan wanted, so why would he..."

The cogs in my head begin to turn and my eyes look off the floor and travel over to Dwight. Why would he lie about Dwight being the traitor, if he didn't have to? Dwight's eyes survey mine, appearing honest and curious, as he looks me over. I feel a sick feeling in my stomach.

"Dwight, I need you back here, a-s-a-fuckin'-p!" Negan demands from the radio on his belt. "I have a job for you."

He grabs the radio and goes to reply, searching for what to say, as if it's that hard, before sighing through his nose and clipping the radio back into place. "I'll see you tonight."

I nod my head. "Mhm."

He steps towards me and hesitates, before kissing my cheek, tenderly touching my arm, and then leaves the room. A hard, empty, sick feeling pits in my stomach as the door clicks shut, encasing me alone in here. I nod my head again and start to pace, still holding my arms to myself. Why would Eugene lie about Dwight being the traitor, if he didn't have to? Sweat trickles down the side of my face from the heat in the room. _He wouldn't_.

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading!**


	43. Don't Go

Dwight come backs to the room some time after dark. My eyes close on the pitch-black room, as I lay in bed with my back to him, listening. His footsteps can be heard, except when he walks on the rug. Nevertheless, his breathing is agitated, which is audible no matter where he steps. He paces once or twice, before heavily exhaling and going to the fridge. I hear the bottle cap of a beer ting-ting on the floor.

Dwight breathes out again. "Fuck!" He sharply curses, low, so as not to wake me, I think. Liquid sizzling as it's poured into the sink is heard next, before an abrupt clank and crash to the bottom.

He plops down in the armchair and sighs, cursing dejectedly once more. I open my eyes, listening still. He's quiet for a moment, and then it sounds like he's taking off his boots. The metallic clinking of his belt comes next and soon the bed dips a little as Dwight sits on the mattress, making me close my eyes again. A second later, he lays down onto his back and lets out another chagrined breath.

I hear his head turn against the pillow and I know he's looking at me. I can feel it. The mattress creaks against the palettes as he rolls to his side. Finally, the warmth of his body is coupled with mine and his arm and his scent drape over me. A soft breath breezes the back of my neck, as he fixes himself closer, letting his hand calmly rest on my stomach. He inhales deeply and raggedly exhales and I'm at a loss at what to think, or do, except lay still.

 **...**

"Nan," He shakes my arm lightly, "Nan."

"What?" I look over my shoulder the next morning.

"It's six thirty-five."

I turn over, glancing up at him, finding him already dressed with wet hair. "You showered."

"Yeah," Dwight nods, "I also made breakfast."

I watch him go over to the kitchenette, as I sit up in bed. "Are the rotters gone?"

"Yep," He replies with a smidge of annoyance that doesn't get past me, "Looks like Eugene's plan worked."

"Yeah, I heard the gunfire for hours after you left," I itch my nose ring, "So, does that mean we're gonna retaliate?"

He nods his head. "Either tonight, or tomorrow."

"Are you mad?"

"No," He huffs, defensively, glancing over, "Why would I be?"

"I don't know. You just seem on edge."

"Well, I'm not."

 _Yes, you are_. But why? I thought he'd be happy that we got freed and can now go after the people he hates about as much as Negan does.

A knot twists in my stomach. "What time did you get in last night?"

"Around eleven," Dwight hands me some oatmeal and toast, "You didn't hear me come in?"

I shake my head. "No," I lie, "Were you in a meeting after the dead were cleared?"

"No, I was just doing whatever needed to be done."

"Oh, okay," I try not to directly stare at him, as I observe his demeanor, "So, has Eugene said anything more to you?"

"Nope, why?" He looks up from his breakfast.

I shrug my shoulder. "Well, you said he was gonna try to rat you out yesterday. I just thought maybe you would try to set him straight."

"He's already convinced it's me, so I don't think there's a whole lot I can do," Dwight digs around his oatmeal, "Aside from...never mind."

"Aren't you worried he'll tell Negan?" I ask, watching.

"He didn't yesterday when he could've, so...no."

"No?" I huff in disbelief, "Dwight, he could've gotten you killed for no reason."

"But he didn't."

"Yeah, because you entered the room and were right next to him," I point out, "The coward probably didn't have the guts to accuse you in the same room, where you could dispute it."

"Or..." He thinks for a second, "Maybe he changed his mind, because you were in the room."

"I was in the room the whole time, before you entered, and he still was gonna single you out."

"Well, he didn't, alright?" Dwight's voice sharpens, irritable, like I figured he might get.

"Yeah..." I set my food down beside me on the bed.

"Something wrong with the food?"

"No, it's fine."

"Then how come you're not eating?"

"I'm just not hungry."

"Morning sickness?" He asks.

I faintly smile, "No, I'm just...not hungry."

"Don't worry about Eugene, alright?"

"I'm not worried about Eugene," I tell him, "I'm worried about you."

Dwight glances away for a second. "Well, don't be. I'll be fine."

I breathe from my nose. "Yeah. Maybe I'm just being silly." He smiles, before going back to eating. "I mean, it's not like he has any proof that you did anything."

He stops just before he sticks a spoonful into his mouth. "...Yeah," He eats the bite.

A bad feeling rises in me. _It can't be_.

 **...**

I'm late for work today, which I hate, because while Reed hasn't flat out said he thinks it's because I likely won't get into trouble with Negan, I know he thinks that. I'm always late by accident, never because I'm taking advantage of de facto amnesty that everyone knows exists. I also don't like that, nor do I strut around like I'm untouchable, but there's nothing I can do about it.

I try not to run through the factory, since it's teaming with people trying to fix as much as they can. The workers still haven't quite settled into their quarters, yet. They all slept on the second floor in some random empty rooms in the east wing that we're guarded all night to make sure they didn't wander. Some of the fence crew, along with those who usually clean are tasked with cleaning up the gruesome aftermath that is the factory floor. Things are obviously pretty solemn because of it.

"Sorry!" I say, hurrying to Reed's office. "I woke up late and I-"

"I need another excuse like I need another fuckin' hole in the head, sweetheart." Negan muses, sitting in Reed's chair.

My eyes scan the room. "Where's Reed?"

"He was on time, so he's off getting things all in order for me." He answers, "Why were you late?"

"I...I woke up a little later than usual," I reply, wiping some sweat from my forehead, "And I..."

"Got a little frisky with a certain somebody?"

I furrow my brows. "What?"

"Man, there is nothing sweeter than morning sex," He leans back a bit, circling his finger at me, "Your face. It gets all bright and rosy like that whenever you've had the good 'ol in and out."

Well, now I'm flushed because I'm embarrassed. And angry. "It's hot in here...and I'm pregnant, so it's probably just sweat and...oil glands"

"So, you weren't paying your rent?"

I bite my tongue. "No, I wasn't," I make clear, "Dwight doesn't make me do that."

Negan huffs, smirking. "Well, welcome to work!"

"I'll go find Reed."

"No need," He gets up from the chair, "I got your work for you right here." He holds up a clipboard. "I had Reed pile all the worker related shit onto your plate."

"But Reed's the-"

"Reed's keeping track of everything, but I figured since you were little miss voice of the people yesterday," Negan hands me the clipboard, purposely towering over me, "You can get off your soapbox and handle everything that directly deals with the workers. You know, PR shit. Face to face."

I accept the challenge. "Okay, that's fine."

"Aw, and look at that," Negan chuckles, "You've got your basket. Gonna try to redistribute the wealth there, darlin'?"

I glance down at it. "I said I was going to."

"Okay, well good luck with that," He scoffs, humored, "I gotta world to get back in order."

I roll my eyes behind his back, before going over the logs on my clipboard, strolling out of the office to get to work.

When the factory floor is finally clean, the dead all outside, or being burned in the incinerator, and the blood and guts all mopped away; I have to re-figure out the quarters, since everything got all thrown around during the panic. The lines have been pulled down and belongings scattered. It's a total mess, but it can't be too hard to manage. The only issue I've faced is the looks I get from the workers, who still don't like me all that much.

"Alright, let's get the lines up again," I instruct, "Partitions go up after we've figured out the spacing."

It's with a little attitude, but they do it anyway. I allow some to clean up their spaces to try and salvage what they can. It's fucking hotter than hell in here. I don't think I've stopped sweating since...since they shut off the power. Water is back up and running with regulations, but the power is not going back up until tonight, except for the things Negan needs now in preparation for tonight or tomorrow.

Dwight left with some others to scout out the outpost about thirty miles away, while Regina's crew try to make it to the other outposts to try to see what and who's still there. I'm not really the praying type, but I pray that Dwight will be alright out there. I spent all the rest of the day after he took me back to our room, driving myself up the wall thinking about him yesterday. I was almost able to drown out the sounds of the gunfire with my consuming thoughts.

"Hey!" A worker shouts, gaining my attention. "Yeah, you!"

I approach her. "What?"

"My quarter was right here before the dead got in and-"

"And I say it was closer to here!" Another worker growls, pointing.

"It was not!" The crone snaps. "We have two by four feet per quarter, Kirk, I measured."

"We'll figure out spacing," I chime in, "Right now just focus-"

"I don't need to figure out shit," The old lady scoffs, "I measured! He's trying to get eight inches more of space from my side!"

"No, she's trying to nab that space from me!"

"Everyone will get the same amount of room for their quarters, alright?" I put my hand up to calm things down. "But right now, we're just getting the partitions up and gathering your individual belongings."

"I'm not giving up my space!"

"Well, I'm not giving up mine!"

"Nobody's-"

"Give that back!" I hear a voice shout behind me, causing me to shift my body. I see two women struggling over a blanket.

"What's going on?" I leave the other two to address the new problem.

"I had this blanket in my hands and she's trying to steal it from me!" One lady explains.

"It's fair game!" The other scoffs, trying to tug it from the other's grasp. "Jerry died yesterday, so his stuff is first come, first serve."

"Yeah, I came first, you bitch!"

A man strides over. "Wait a minute, I lived right next to him, so I should get first dibs!"

"Look..." I sigh, "If she had the blanket first, then it's hers now, okay?"

"That's not fair!" The second lady shouts.

"Damn right!" The man booms.

"Actually, it-"

"Hey, that's mine!"

"No, it's mine!"

I look off trying to find where those voices are coming from. I think I may have made a mistake in letting them sort this out freely. I really didn't consider the wolfish bickering, but I guess with things being like they are right now, it really is putting everyone on edge.

"Hey!" One of the women pokes my shoulder. "Tell her to let go of the blanket."

I blink at them. "Um, it's technically-"

"She already took his bowls, she can't have his blanket, too!"

"I should get to choose before anyone!" The man yells.

"This isn't fair!"

"Actually," I curtly raise my voice, silencing the squabbling trio, "It is fair. In fact, it's the rules, Fiona. So, she gets the bowls and the blanket."

"That-"

"And living next to someone doesn't right you their shit after they've had their guts ripped from them," I inform the man, who was about to object, "But you really want to loot through a dead guy's stuff." I lightly kick a crate over to him. "Then it's first come, first serve." I turn around and go back to the first two arguers. "And spacing will be divided evenly when all the lines are put back up along the factory."

The old woman makes a sound of displeasure, putting her closed hand on her hip and looking me over. "Well, okay, then," She wryly says, "I'll just pick up my things."

"That's fine, thank you."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to tell daddy that we were giving you a hard time. "

I look at her, stunned at what she's just said. She looks at me very bluntly and I can make out other faces staring at me, most likely with the same message. I want so badly to rip her points right out from under. "Just get your shit collected."

I walk off, catching a few snide whispers, as I go in search of Lillian. She's stooped beside her mattress, putting anything worth saving into her crates. She looks calm, despite the all the mayhem that took place yesterday.

"Hi."

Lillian looks up. "Hello," She dryly acknowledges me.

"How are you today?" I ask, squatting down to help her.

"As well as I suppose one can be," She replies, "My neighbor's died."

"I'm...sorry to hear that."

"I'm not," She looks through some items, "He had sleep apnea. Kept me up all night."

"Oh, okay," I hand her a book that was splayed out, "Aesop's Fables?"

"You're familiar?"

"Yeah, some of it," I tell her, "Um, do you remember the other day?"

Lillian glances my way. "Which do you mean?"

"When I came and got you from the library?"

"I don't recall, no," She responds, "Wait...you were with that scar-faced man. The one who got the iron before Mark."

"Yeah, we brought you back here after we found out Negan was alive."

Her somewhat distant eyes flicker to my stomach. "Oh, now I remember."

"You...kept saying I was Negan's pregnant wife, "I force a faint chuckle, but she doesn't laugh back. I clear my throat. "Well, I have to get back to work."

"They don't respect you."

"What?"

"The workers," She clarifies, "They don't respect you, nor do they like you."

"Yeah, what's new?" I sigh, rising up.

"It's because you're pregnant."

"No, it's because they think it's Negan's and it's not."

"That's because you were his wife." She flatly adds.

"Well, that doesn't mean it's his baby," I irritably say, "It's Dwight's. I know it is."

"Do you?" Lillian airily inquires, sorting her belongings.

"Yes."

"And how can you be certain?" She peers up at me.

"Because I am."

"That's a poor answer."

"Well, it's..." I exhale, "It's the only answer I have."

She nods, returning to her work, "That won't be good enough."

"...I don't care," I huff, "I don't need them to like me, or believe me."

"That's not what I was talking about and you know it," Lillian retorts, "You aren't _her_. You're no beautiful little fool, so don't act like one."

I stare down at her for a moment, before I stalk away. I find Marisol doing the same thing Lillian and most others have been instructed to do. She looks tired and the sweat glistens on her skin, as she folds some clothes.

"How's it going?"

"Fine," She claims, "I loved scrambling upstairs as people got torn to shreds."

"Are you alright?" I ask, uneasy. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"No," Marisol shakes her head, sighing, "I'm just exhausted...shit got pretty scary."

"Yeah," I agree, "I wanted to come down to check on things, but-"

"But you were all scared we were gonna toss you outside, if you came down into the quarters?"

"No, I didn't think that," I assure her, "I wasn't allowed to come down."

Marisol nods. "Alright."

I scratch at my thumb. "Is any of your fruit left?"

"Are you the one who's been anonymously giving me food?"

"No."

"Oh," She looks over to her laundry basket, "I think I've got a bruised apple that'll be good for a day at least."

I take the basket from my arm. "Here."

"What's this?" She takes it.

"It's some stuff that I want you to pass around to the quarters," I elaborate, "It's probably better that you do it."

"Okay."

"I'll be back in an hour."

"Hey!" She calls out.

"Yeah?" I look over my shoulder.

"How are you?" Marisol, nodding towards my middle.

"I'm okay." I walk away from her without any further desire to talk to her, or anyone else.

 **...**

After grabbing a bite to eat back at our room, I remember that I haven't given Harlan my permission slip for my prenatal vitamins, so I decide to go while I can. Hopefully, it'll take my mind off how rough the workers are being. I give a courtesy knock, because I know that guy's still in there recovering.

"Dr. Carson?"

"You finally got your note?" He smiles warmly, which is refreshing.

I smile back, holding it up. "Yep, signed by Negan himself."

"Well, I didn't think he'd say no." Harlan goes over to the med cabinet, while I make a face at that harmless, but annoying comment. "Here you are."

"Oh, I only want a week's worth."

"Negan told me to give you a whole bottle." He extends the bottle to me. "No objections."

I take the bottle, begrudgingly. "Okay, thank you." I look over at the man resting in bed. "Hello."

"Hello." He greets back with a weak voice.

"You should be about nineteen weeks tomorrow." Harlan informs me.

I look his way. "Oh, yeah, that's right."

"You know, if you want," Dr. Carson glances behind himself, "We could schedule to have your ultrasound tomorrow."

"Oh," I take a peek at my vitamins, "Um, can I think about it?"

"You're still trying to get your boyfriend to come with you?"

I can feel a bashful warmth in my cheeks. "I don't think he'll come, but I-"

"I'm afraid I can't keep it from Negan, Nan."

I nod, sullenly. "Okay, well, I'll let you know when I want to come in."

"Alright," Harlan nods, "Have a nice day."

"Okay," I go to leave, but halt, "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

I turn my body, as if it'll block out what I intend to say from the priest behind me. "I was wondering if you had any way of verifying, um, you know, the paternity?"

Dr. Carson's eyes apologetically scan my face. "Not unless you've got a lab."

I chew the side of my lip, disappointed. "Okay. And you think I'm eighteen weeks, not twenty?"

"It's a close call, but I'm fairly certain."

"Okay," I repeat, still bummed, "See you later."

I drop off the vitamins in our room and then head back to the quarters.

 **...**

"You got all the quarters situated?" Reed asks, as I come into the office.

"Yeah," I let out a heavy breath, putting the tape measure down on his desk, "It was a pain in the ass, but I made it as fair as possible."

Reed adjusts the sling around his body, cocking his brow. "You actually measured?"

"They were complaining," I say, sitting down in the chair across from him, "They wanted their spaces to be two by four, so I made sure they were."

"Or, you could've said it's where you say it is and take off a couple inches for every complaint. Maybe take off some points."

"I didn't want to do that."

"Well, kid, they'll walk all over you, if you don't lay down the law." He looks over his work, "Especially you, since they aren't too fond of you."

"How do you know that?" I scoff.

"Because I'm around them all day and you're not necessarily getting voted prom queen by the other Saviors, either."

I brood, quietly, as I do my work. God, I hate that everyone in this goddamn place knows my business. I hate doubly that people find time to dislike me for no real good reason, other than their own boredom. I think I just hate this place, which is too damn bad, considering I'm stuck here.

"Hurry up, so I can take stock of the things going into the trucks for tonight."

I glance up. "They're going tonight?"

"Yeah, so chop, chop."

Despite the worry in my head and chest, I get my work done and Reed locks the office door, stalking off without a goodnight. All those weapons and explosives Reed wrote down, plus one pine box, for tonight made my nerves sharpen. I walk along the factory floor towards the stairs, ignoring the daggers I'm getting, even though I helped them with the spacing of their quarters which took five grueling hours. _Fucking ingrates_.

"Hey, Nan!" Marisol hurries over to me with the basket I gave her. "Here."

I look inside. "It's...all there still."

"Yeah," She clasps her hands, "I tried to pass it out, but no one wanted anything when they found out it was from you."

I nod, exhaling through my nose. "Okay, thank you."

I don't say a word to anyone as I trek back to the room. Once, inside, I slam the door and drop the basket where I stand, and then I trudge over to the bed. Dwight's sitting in the armchair, halting his hands from whatever he's carving.

"What's with you?"

"Nothing," I kick my shoes off and curl my legs in, "I just hate the workers."

"They didn't want your charity?"

"I wasn't pitying them," I huff, clearing my forehead of sweat, "I was just trying to treat them better, but all they did was fight and insult me."

He chuckles under his breath. "Well, you tried."

"How was the outpost?"

"They're all dead," Dwight reports, unphased, "Except for a baby that's missing."

" _What?_ " I'm surprised by this unexpected news, along with the callousness of how he delivered it.

"Apparently, this guy, Ellis, had a five month old baby girl," He looks over at me, "He was dead with the rest, but she's gone."

I rest my hands on my tummy. "You think they took her?"

"Yes," He nods, "But she's probably alright."

"How do you know?"

"If they were going to kill her, they would've just killed her there." Dwight continues to survey my face. "Look, Hal radioed me to the room when he found it. I went in and there were no signs of foul play. They just took her. I doubt they're gonna kill a baby, Nan."

His words admittedly make me feel a little better. "What about her mother?"

"There weren't any women there, so she might have died some time ago."

The radio by Dwight statics. "The trucks are almost ready to go," Arat says, "We should be clear to go in fifteen."

"Good," Negan replies, "I want to head out as soon as possible, so I can get my hands on my friend, Rick."

My eye blink to Dwight. "So, you're going tonight?"

"Yeah," Dwight nods his head, chipping away at the wood, "We're heading to Alexandria, Gavin's taking a few trucks to the Kingdom, while Simon's gonna deal with the Hilltop."

An uneasy feeling accumulates in my stomach again. "What will happen when you get there?"

"Negan wants them to forfeit Rick and then apologize for rebelling," He tells me, "Then he's gonna kill someone."

"And if they don't?" I fearfully ask.

"Then Alexandria will be destroyed."

My mind immediately goes back to when I was there. How beautiful it was and how I sort of wished I could live someplace like that, instead of in a harsh, totalitarian factory. What a shame it is just to picture all those houses and all that greenery to become a wasteland. And what about Carl and Judith? We made dinner with Carl and ate with them. I rocked the baby to sleep. _He held her_.

"Dwight?"

"Hm?"

I glance over at him with troubled eyes. "What about the kids there?"

He shrugs. "If they want them to be safe and sound, then they'll open the gates to us."

"But they won't," I murmur, "They're not gonna go back to the ways things were. That was clear when they came to the Sanctuary."

"Well, then it's on them then, isn't it?"

"But-"

"Nan, let's not talk about it, okay?" He interrupts my worries, "Everything's gonna be fine."

I pick around my thumb. "Fine."

"I put your vitamins in your trunk, by the way."

"Thanks," I reach over to get one from my trunk, "Harlan reminded me that it'll be nineteen weeks tomorrow."

"Yeah." Dwight gets up and goes to the sink.

"He wants to reschedule my next ultrasound," I accept the cup of water he hands me, "Thank you."

"What day?" He asks, as he takes a flannel from his stack on the top of the locker.

I unpleasantly swallow my vitamin. "I told him I'd let him know, because I wasn't sure."

"Wasn't sure of what?"

"Of when I wanted to go."

Dwight turns to briefly glance back at the sonogram on the fridge. "Reed's not gonna give you shit for going to the doctor's."

"I know," I can't help but smile a little, "But I want to wait a little."

He looks back. "For what?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe he'll be able to tell better after a few more weeks."

Dwight snickers through his nose, as he buttons up his shirt. "Okay, then."

"And maybe...I can get you to change your mind by then?"

At that, his smile starts to fade. "Doubt it."

I sigh, getting off the bed to change out of my sweaty clothes. "I just want you to be there."

"We've talked about it, Nan."

"Yeah, well, he already knows that you're the father and he's asked when you're gonna come to one of my appointments."

"You know why I can't." Dwight says.

"I know why you won't," I retort, "But you can't hide from that forever. I mean, what's gonna happen when I go into labor? Are you gonna be there?"

"You know, I'm can't have this conversation with you right now." He turns as he shrugs on his vest. "I've gotta get ready to go."

A panic leaps in my chest. I quietly pad over to him, gently wrapping my arms around him from behind. "Don't go, Dwight. Stay here."

He sighs against me. "I have to go."

"No, you don't," I mildly argue, "You can stay here and man the factory."

"That's what Reed's here for."

"Please." I murmur, as he shifts to face me. "Please, don't go there and destroy their homes."

"They destroyed _our_ home."

"Dwight, I want you to stay here," I still insist, "I don't want you to go to Alexandria."

"I can't just back out, Nan," Dwight touches my arm, "I'm being counted on to make sure things go as planned."

I draw back. "Because he wants to you to go?"

"Yes," He runs his hand through his hair, "Look, it's gonna be fine, o-

"How do you know that?" I burst out. "You keep saying things are going to be okay, or fine, but how can you possibly know that?"

"Because it will, okay?" He raises his voice. "Just trust me."

"I do trust you!" I snap, "But I'm also aware of how serious things are getting and I don't like being told to not worry about it!"

"Well, it's not good for the baby."

I go to retort, but that pauses me. _That's not fair_. "You can't predict outcomes, D. You can't just say things are going to be alright and that just makes it so."

"That's why I'm working to make things better," He scoffs.

"How?" I ask, shrugging my shoulders. "By setting fire to people's homes?"

"They..." Dwight sighs, tired, "They'll be fine."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do!"

"How do you know?"

"Because I-" Dwight stops himself. "Because Negan doesn't want them all dead. He only wants Rick."

"Plus one."

"...Yeah."

"And you think that things will alright after that?" I chuckle derisively. "You think we'll be able to live better lives after we destroy everything they have and kill their people?" Dwight glances away and disappointment floods me. "I thought you wanted to be a better person?"

"I do," He looks at me again, a little irked, "And I'm trying to make up for the things I've done."

"How is this making up for the bad things?" I inquire, "How are you gonna sleep better at night?"

"I've been sleeping." Dwight sharply claims.

"Only just..." I stare at him, knitting my brows, "Just recently." _No..._

"Everyone to their trucks in two minutes!" Arat calls over the radio. "Let's move!"

He grabs his radio and clips it to his belt. "I gotta go."

"Okay." I close my eyes and tears escape down my cheeks.

Dwight hesitates, before stepping towards me. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah," I nod, looking away because of how angry I am.

He sighs, then wipes a tear trail away, so he can kiss my cheek. "Bye."

"Bye."

"...Maybe we can talk about things when I get back."

"Yeah, maybe." I blandly reply.

Dwight walks to the door and opens it. "I am trying, Nan. More than you know."

I don't say anything; I just keep my eyes plastered to the wall. He breathes out, before exiting and closing the door.

 **...**

 _"I thought you weren't gonna come back?" Charlie asks, yawning._

 _I look around the forest that's light is a little softer. As if evening is rolling by. "I don't know how I got here."_

 _"Yeah, you do," He chuckles, "Don't lie."_

 _"I don't know," I peer down into the grave, "Really."_

 _"Okay," Charlie sighs, "So, I guess we'll just sit here."_

 _There's a whistling in the woods not far out. "It's him."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _I reach over and dust some dirt off his shoulder. "I don't want to go with him, Charlie."_

 _"But you have to."_

 _"Charlie, he's-"_

 _"You won't have anything, if you stay, Anna," Charlie tells me, "We've talked about this. You can't stay."_

 _"I know, but I...he's not a good man, Charlie."_

 _Another whistles sounds, which is responded by numerous identical whistles among the trees. Then, followed by a bird._

 _"You'll be fine." He says, looking up at the trees, smiling._

 _I groan, "I'm tired of hearing that."_

 _"Well, you will be."_

 _My eyes search the woods still, looking for someone. "I don't see him."_

 _"Don't see who?"_

 _"Don't see...," I turn my head to look at Charlie, "I don't see him." I put an emphasis on the last word._

 _"Oh," He nods, "Well, you still have to go."_

 _One whistle pierces the air again, complimented by the bird once more. "Why does it keep doing that?"_

 _"The bird?"_

 _"Yeah," I look up, after seeing the shadow of the bird soar over the land, "It keeps whistling, whenever..."_

 _"Whenever he does?"_

 _I peer over at him and he just smiles brightly, despite my perplexed, aching concern._

 _"Nan." I hear, but he hasn't spoken. "Nan."_

 _"What is that?"_

 _"Nan!"_

 _I return to Charlie. "Charlie?"_

 _"Nan!"_

"Nan!" I'm startled awake by a voice and a little nudge of my shoulder. "Nan!"

My eyes focus on Harlan in the dark, kneeling beside my bed. "Wha-what's going on?"

"Shh," Harlan puts his finger to his lips, "Gabriel and I are leaving."

"What?" I slowly sit up. "What are you talking about?"

"The west gate is unguarded right now," Harlan reaches down to grab something, "We're going to the Hilltop."

"Hilltop?"

The doctor nods, before handing me my shoes. "Yes, and I want you to come with us."

I furrow my eyes. "What?"

"I have my own office there," He whispers, "We can't take the ultrasound unit, but at least you'll have a doctor."

"I..." I'm so confused that I don't know what to say.

"Listen, if you stay here, you won't have a doctor," Harlan goes into the closet and produces my jacket, "Things are better at the Hilltop. Kinder. You won't have to worry about Negan."

"I-I can't."

"Yes, you can," He insists, "It'll be safer for you there. As your doctor, I insist."

"But Dwight..." I murmur, "I can't just leave without him, Harlan."

"Don't you think he'll feel better knowing you and your baby are someplace where you don't have to fear the leader?" He inquires.

"Your leader betrayed your people," I remind him, "He sold them out to Negan."

"He's not the leader anymore," Dr. Carson says, confident, "Not after what he did. I know the people there and they won't have him back. There's a woman there, Maggie. She's pregnant, too, and I know she'll let you stay there. I've already explained your situation to Gabriel and he's agreed to have come with us."

I get out of bed. "I don't know, Harlan. I don't want Dwight to think I left just like that." I wring my hands together. "He's had that happen before and I...I wouldn't want him to not be able to find me."

"Leave him a note," The doctor replies, "You and your child will be safe there. And I'll be there to make sure your delivery goes as smoothly."

I look down in thought. Hate to say it, but it would be better. I would be free. But Dwight...

"I don't know how long Eugene's laxative will work on the guard, so-"

"Hang on," I put my hand up, "Eugene?"

"He slipped the guard at the west gates a laxative to get him away from his post and gave Gabriel the keys to get out of here, while Negan and most of the Saviors are gone."

I shake my head. "No, we can't go," I tell him, "Eugene...he can't be trusted."

"Why not?"

"Because he...because he just can't," I vaguely warn him.

"You think it's a trap?" He asks.

"I...I don't know, but I'm not going." I quickly to come my senses. "It's too dangerous."

"Nan, we-"

"We'll be found," I promptly interrupt, "As soon as Negan finds out we're gone, he'll come looking." Tears are fought down. "And he'll know exactly where to go."

"We'll hide out nearby Hilltop," Dr. Carson explains, "Wait for them to leave when they don't find us and then-"

"No, Harlan," I shake my head again, "He'll just rip apart the community. If he doesn't by the end of the night."

"But, Nan, we...we have to try." Harlan has almost a pleading to his tone. "We-"

"You," I clarify, "You and Gabriel go. I understand if you have to go, but I can't." I start to get back in bed.

"Nan."

"If I go, you won't be safe and neither will Dwight," I continue, "He had a wife. She married Negan in order to save his life and then she ran away." Harlan's brows begin to gather at the story. "He was blamed, and beaten, and thrown in a cell. If I left, too? Negan would blame him again and this time it could be worse. I can't leave with you. I have to stay."

The doctor looks unnerved. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I nod my head, "I am."

"Okay..." Harlan nods back, "I guess this is goodbye."

"Thank you for helping me," I smile, "I appreciate all you've done."

He smiles brightly. "I was glad to help."

"Bye, Harlan. Good luck."

"Thank you. Same to you." He leaves the room.

I take a deep inhale and a deeper exhale, trying to calm the frenzy that's stirred in my chest, as I lay back down. I don't know if it's because I've made the right choice, or a terrible mistake. I feel like I've done the former, so then why is my body so disquiet?

* * *

 **A little delayed, but better late than never! Hope you all enjoyed this week's chapter! I hope everyone has a happy holidays and is someplace safe and warm!**

 **I didn't have time to get to respond to any of the reviews/questions in the reviews, but if anyone has any inquires that _needs_ to be answered, feel free to PM me and I'll try to reply promptly to the best of my abilities. **


	44. He Said He'd See Me In The Morning

I didn't go back to sleep right away after Harlan left. There was a craze inside me as I laid there and thought of all the possible outcomes of their escape; ultimately holding out hope that the doctor and the priest would make it out and be safe. Part of it was also guilt and nervous envy that I didn't go with them. I know I did the right thing, but there's still a feeling in my gut that is nagging me.

I wake up at my routine time, though my eyes are heavy from laying awake late in the night. I think I heard the trucks rolling into the Sanctuary about the time my eyelids won me over. My arms stretch over my head as I roll off my side onto my back. I find the other side of the bed empty.

I sit up and take a look around the small room, before getting out of bed. Dwight said he'd see me in the morning…

He probably hit the showers, or is off doing something Negan tasked him with. I stalk over to the sink for some water to take with my vitamin. We had words last night and to be honest, I'm still a little sore about it. I know he's hiding something from me; I fear I might know what and just the very thought of it irks at me.

I flick on the stove to get some water boiling for breakfast. _Ask him_. I don't know if I can. I'm afraid of what the answer might be and how I'll respond, because I'm not sure how I would feel about it, if it was true. Maybe he'll bring it up without my asking. He did say we could talk about things. I'm not sure if that was about the tension I have about the doctor appointments, which I think is totally justifiable, but since that won't be an issue anymore, I don't see why he can't share some information with me.

Oh, yeah. I won't be able to find out the sex of the baby, now that Harlan's gone. I mean, I guess we still have the ultrasound unit, but it might not be as easy to work as the doctor makes it look. I suppose it would be sort of fun to have it be a surprise.

By the time I've fixed oatmeal, toast, and some coffee for him, it's six-forty. _Where is he?_ I sit down in the armchair with my breakfast and shovel it in, a little more hungry than I thought. My eyes glance about the room again as I look for signs that Dwight came in last night. His side of the bed is mussed, but that could've been from me, it's hard to tell. I guess he'd have his shoes and the clothes from the night before with him if he went to shower.

After I eat, I wash up a little in the sink, still waiting around for him to come in. But, he doesn't show and it sort of makes me grow impatiently irritable. It makes me feel like maybe he's avoiding me, because of the argument. When the clock reads seven, I have to get to work.

The factory appears to be functioning like normal when I get down there. As far as I can see, every Savior that passes by doesn't seem to be walking on eggshells as much as they had been when they were ambushed at Alexandria the first time. I do notice some folks avoiding eye contact with me. There are even eyes that follow me as I walk towards Reed's office. Then again, that's not really all that new.

"Good morning." I greet Reed, strolling in.

Reed's eyes immediately set on me. "Morning."

"Should I have the workers returning to their usual jobs this morning?" I ask, grabbing up my clipboard. "Maybe have some of them start working on repairs?"

"I've got 'em out there already," Reed replies with a sorry tone to his voice, "But you can go ahead and oversee it"

"Okay. Hey, have you seen Dwight?"

"Uh, no, I haven't."

I try to make out this expression, before I nod. "Okay."

…

The workers give me looks all day, but I've decided to stop caring again. I tried to be nice to them, to stand up for them, to treat them like human beings, but they want nothing to do with me. So, I'm just going to do my job and make sure shit gets done. I'm not going to start acting like I'm better than them, but I'm also not going to stick my neck out for them anymore, or go out of my way to make them see that I'm not a bad person.

I meet their stares with dry indifference as I patrol the factory. That's what I've been doing all day, since Reed handles everything else and I don't have to deal with point distribution and log collection until around five. All while I walk around the factory, in and out, I keep my eyes peeled for Dwight, but I haven't caught wind of him all morning. I've even taken the measure of asking some workers and Saviors if they've seen him. All of them reply with apathetic shrugs, or low shakes of their heads. Some even answer with a "no", but it's sort of odd the way they say it. Almost like they know something I don't. I've seen Reed eyeing me with an uncomfortable countenance a few times this morning, as well. I'm starting to get a little worried.

I return to Reed's office at one to drop off my stuff, so I can get something to eat. Reed's sitting there with a heavy apprehension on his face.

"Hey," I walk in, "I'm gonna take thirty, if that's alright."

"Yeah, sure," He says, "In fact, you can head up to the top floor, because Negan wants to see you."

"I didn't here him radio for me." I check the radio on my belt to make sure it's on.

"He didn't radio the request," He tells me, "He told me to send you his way twenty or so minutes ago."

I knit my brows. "Oh, what about?"

Reed sits up in his chair and acts as if he's looking over some papers on his desk, clearing his throat. "He just wants to talk to you, so I'd get going."

"Okay."

"Leave your work," He insists, "I'll take care of it."

"How long do you figure I'll be up there?" I chuckle a little, nervous.

"Just get going, Nan."

Now I'm really starting to get a little worried.

…

I don't want to sound like a complainer, but I really don't like climbing all these stairs. It was hard before I was pregnant, but now. As the months get on, I'm gonna stick to the first and second floor.

When I'm passing the infirmary, I notice four people standing outside, in line to see the doctor. I want to tell them that they're waiting for nothing, but I know it would be unwise to relay that I know the doctor's gone.

I finally make it up to the top floor, where once again, I can smell food in the stairwell. I roll my eyes at the thought of being asked to eat here again, though I am feeling hungry. I walk down the hall to the dining room, however, when I make it to the entrance I find the girls, but no Negan.

"Afternoon." I say, slightly worried by the immediate looks on their faces. "Where's Negan?"

"He's in his room," Hazel nods towards his door, "You can go in."

I instantly leave and cross the hall. I lightly knock on his door. "Come in," He permits from within.

I sheepishly go in, where I see him sitting on the sofa, bent over a plate. He's got some bruises on his face and it looks like he's even got one on the bridge of his nose. "Hello."

"Hello," Negan stiffly greets back, "Sit down."

"What did you want to see me about?"

"Sit."

I have a seat down in the chair across from him, coupling my hands together. "So, what's this about?"

"How ya doin'?" He asks, ignoring my inquiry. "Harlan said you came to see him."

"Harlan?" I furrow my brows.

"Yep, he told me you finally redeemed that slip for the vitamins."

"Oh, yeah." I clear my throat when he continues to stare at me in question. "I'm fine."

"Good to know…" Negan sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking me over.

"Is that all?"

"No, that's not all," He huffs, "Look at you, always trying to find the quickest way out of here."

I glance down at my hands. "Sorry."

Negan's stern face continues to stare. "So, Reed told me you've been disrupting people from their jobs, asking about Dwight."

"I...I wasn't disrupting them," I claim, "I just was wondering if they'd seen him. Is he at one of the outposts, or something?"

"No, he's not at any outposts."

"Well, then where he is?" I shrug my shoulders, puzzled.

"I guess you didn't hear about what happened last night?"

"Alexandria was destroyed?" I gently wring my hands, attempting to warm them.

"Oh, that it fuckin' is," Negan grins, reclining back on the sofa, "Blown to smithereens. Every last fucking house on the block."

"And...they're all dead?"

"No," He sighs, agitated, "Nope, they managed to escape out the back, while Carl...distracted me. The little asshole."

"Is he okay?"

Negan's brows gather slightly. "Yeah, he's fine. Got out with the rest of them."

I nod my head. "What happened to your face?"

"Got into it with Prick."

"He escaped, too?"

"Well, I think that's fairly fucking obvious, Nan, seeing as he's not dead and chained to my fucking fences."

I sigh through my nose. "So, what did you want to tell me?"

"How's working with the workers?" Negan smiles. "They givin' you a hard time?

"...No," I pridefully shake my head, "No, everything's fine. Why did you want to see me?"

His smile sinks until it's gone and he exhales. Negan leans forward again. "So, you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" I mildly growl. Negan's eyes start to concern me. "What?"

"Dwight and his convoy didn't return last night,"He soberly reports, "After the Alexandrians busted through the back wall, they went after 'em and they haven't come back yet."

...I look at him without blinking. I search for any signs in his tepid eyes and serious face for deceit, or a nasty trick. But he looks perfectly candid. Almost apologetic.

"We've radioed for 'em, but there's been no word," He adds.

"...Maybe they're out of range." I croak.

"They had long range radios," Negan reports, "They would be able to hear us from there, plus, they would've been back by now, if…"

"If?"

His eyes are solemn. "If they were still alive."

I look off to the side at nothing, mechanically nodding my head. He said he would see me in the morning. I feel a bending pressure in my chest.

"Look," Negan continues, "I know it must be hard to take this in, considering how sweet you were on him, so I've told Reed to handle your load for the rest of the day."

My eyes blink to his. "No, I can carry my own."

He glances down for a second, sighing. "I know I've been an asshole; telling you you weren't cut out for this shit, but I'm giving you a pass to deal with what you got to deal with, not because I think you're weak."

"You do think I'm weak," I rasp, trying to breathe through the bend, "I don't need a pass."

"Oh, I'm sorry," He chuckles with an edge in his tone, "Did I sound like I was making a suggestion? Because I most certainly fucking wasn't."

"I-"

"I don't need you working yourself up until you're sick and crying in the middle my damn factory," He raises his voice, which is kind of terrifying, "So, you're not working today."

I numbly stare at him. "Fine. I'll go back to our room and...wait, I guess."

"He's not coming back, Nan," Negan's temper seems to simmer down at my words, "Don't roll out the welcome home banner, honey."

I rise from the chair. "He came back the last time."

"Yeah, well, he didn't this time."

I swallow the scorching lump in my throat. "Okay." Is all I can manage, before I turn to exit.

"Nan."

"What?"

"You could stay up here for a little while, if you want," He says with earnestness, "You know, collect yourself, before you head back down. The girls-"  
"No, I'll be fine by myself, thank you." I leave without another word.

When I spy the wives in the dining room peering out at me, I lower my gaze to some far off point in space as I tread off towards the stairs.

I go down the stairs with the same pace I normally would, not really focusing on anything, or anyone I come into contact with. My eyes just keep fixed on the ground while I walk to our room. When I make it to the fourth floor, I pass the infirmary, where I see Harlan discharging a bandaged up Savior and admitting one from the line into his office. He sees me and I find him, but I don't allow our eyes to meet for more than a second. I don't understand, but I'm too dazed and confused to stop and ask.

Despite ignoring those who I pass in the hallways, I am still acutely aware of the eyes that watch me with the knowledge that I have just received. Pitiful, or eager to see me break down and cry. When I make it to the third stairwell that'll take me to the second floor, I charge down the steps, until I'm at the bottom, where then I stop. My lungs have a dry burn to them. I attempt to catch my breath before I leave, but someone comes in to head up the stairs and I have to keep going.

I make it to Dwight and I's room, close the door swiftly behind me, and then I lean on it. _Didn't come back?_ He has to come back. He said he would. He said he'd see me in the morning. Dwight's not a liar; he keeps his promises. I know I haven't always thought highly of him, but I've come to know that Dwight is a man of his word. When he says he's going to do something, he does it. He said he'd see me in the morning.

...But he's not here. It's been hours since morning and I haven't seen any sight of him yet. He would find me, wouldn't he? I know we argued, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't come back to our room when he returned, or would go at lengths to avoid me.

I drudge over to the bed. _He'll come back_. I lay down over the quilted comforter. He has to; he said he would. My head immediately fights to push back the darker thoughts that would disrupt my reality with what I won't even consider right now. _It's just like Charlie_.

I squeeze my eyes shut and think as hard as I can about something, anything else. _He said he'd see me in the morning_.

…

When I open my eyes again, the room's faded from the sun starting to go down. I don't think I've slept all this time, but the knock on the door made my body jump ever so dully. I stare at the pale, lifeless green on the wall as I wait for the person on the other end to go away. Another knock arrives, but I ignore it again.

"Nan?" A familiar voice inquires, before I hear the opening of our door. "Nan?"

"Go away, Hal," I rasp, "I don't want to talk right now."

"How long have you been laying there?" He asks anyway.

"Please, just go."

Hal sits on the edge of our bed. "I'm sorry, love."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Hal," I weakly say, "We don't know anything, yet."

He sighs behind me and then I feel his hand on my shoulder. "It's six o'clock, Nan. Everyone who went out last night has reported in… Except Dwight, Laura, and the rest that went with them."

"They might've had to walk back," I point out, grasping at straws, "Their cars could've gotten damaged. It-"

"It wouldn't take them this long to walk back."

"If they had to lay low, because-"

"Stop," Hal softly demands, "Nan, they're gone."

My arms unfold from being wrapped around my chest and I slide my hand down to my belly. "He said he'd see me in the morning."

"I'm sure he thought he would," Hal replies, rubbing my arm, "But it didn't work out that way."

I close my eyes. "Could you just go, please?"

"I'm your mate, mate," He exhales, "Don't shut me out."

"I just want to be alone for a little bit, Hal, okay?" He goes to protest, but I won't let him. "I just want to be alone. I don't want to talk about this, I don't want people telling me they're sorry, I don't want to be coddled. I just want to be alone."

"Fine," He gets up from the bed, "I'm down the hall, if you need anything."

"Okay," I say inaudibly.

Hal finally leaves me alone, so I can close my eyes again and continue to lay here.

…

I'm wake up this morning to an empty bed. I roll onto my back and take a moment to breathe, to put my hand on my pregnant belly, before I force myself to get out of bed. I go to the sink with the same mug I used last night, fill it up with water, and then take my daily prenatal vitamin. I take out the cylinder tin of oatmeal and pour water into a pot to boil.

My stomach roars, so I go to the fridge and get some eggs, onions, and peppers. I don't know if it's a pregnant thing, or because I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, but I also slice some bread for toast. While all that's cooking, I wash my face and neck and manage to rub some of my cocoa butter on my body.

It all smells so good. I plate my food, going over to the armchair to have breakfast. With everything before me, I don't know where to start. I pick up my bowl, scoop some of the goopy stuff onto my spoon, and bring it to my mouth. The brown sugar and cinnamon intoxicate my nose, but...I can't eat. I set down the bowl, deciding to go for the scramble instead. But the same thing happens.

It's like there's some unseen barrier keeping me from feeding myself. I put the plate on the little table and sit for a moment. I stare at the meal I prepared and an overwhelming pressure begins to form in my shoulders and in my chest. _He said he'd see me in the morning_. The food goes crashing to the floor by accident, after I abruptly get up.

"Shit." I curse under my breath, before kneeling down to clean it up.

The day goes by as usual, except with more stares coming my way. I just glaze over it all and keep to my work. I don't talk to anyone that I don't need to. It almost feels like how it used to be when I was just a baker some odd months ago. Before Dwight and I… well, anyway, I just keep my head down and get through the day.

When it comes time to call it quits, I turn in my work to Reed and go up to go back to our room. In the hallway, I run into Harlan.

"Hello," He greets, carefully, glancing me over, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." I touch my arm. "Um, how come you're still here?"

Harlan peers over his shoulder. "Gabriel's not really fit for travel."

"Eugene didn't provide an escape car?"

"No, he did."

"Then Gabriel would've been fine," I murmur, "You should've gone when you had the chance."

"Well, I…" The doctor sighs, "I couldn't leave."

"Why not?"

"Because I couldn't leave you here." He confesses.

I knit my brows. "I told you to go."

"Yes, I know," He nods his head, checking each side of the hall again, "And I was going to, but my conscience kept telling me I couldn't leave you here."

"I'll...I'll be fine." I bleakly assure him.

"Even so, I wouldn't've felt right about leaving you stranded without a doctor."

"What about that woman you told me about? You were her doctor first and you belong at the Hilltop."

"All I can hope for is that they will eventually come for us," Harlan replies, "But if not, I hope that Maggie and the others would understand why I chose to stay."

"I don't understand."

"I chose to stay, because you're more in need of a doctor than she is right now."

"How am I more in need?"

"Well," Negan comes strolling down the hall towards us, "Just the person I wanted to see."

Harlan looks from him to me. I wrap the flannel shirt I put over my t-shirt around my stomach, folding my arms in the process.

"I need you to hustle your ass to the infirmary, doc."

"Is it Gabriel?" Harlan asks.

"Nope," Negan glances my way, "Laura's on her way back. Should be twenty minutes out."

I lift my head up. "Laura's alive?"

"That she is," He replies, "She managed to escape the other night. Laid low in the woods, until she made it to the radio station."

I can't keep my breathing from inclining with both anxiety and hope. "What did she say?"

"Exactly what I just fuckin' told you." Negan's blink back to the doctor. "You should start preparing just in case she needs some stitches, or some shit."

Dr. Carson nods, before going off without a word. I begin to follow Negan when he walks towards the front. His strides are longer and cover more distance than mine, but I make myself keep up.

"Did she mention, if-"

"If there were any other survivors with her?" Negan finishes my question. "No, she's alone."

"Well, maybe the others couldn't make it as far."

"Fuckin' really?" He chuckles incredulously, glancing over his shoulder at me. "You really think that, or are you just desperate?" I don't know how to answer that, though it does anger me. "I doubt Laura would forget to mention if the others were still alive. You coming along?"

"Yes."

"You sure you want to do this to yourself?"

"I'll be fine."

"Suit yourself."

I don't say another word as we continue to head to the front of the factory. I don't want to hear anything more he has to say. When we finally arrive, Negan opens up one of the front doors, lightly pushing me a step back, as he scans the world outside.

"She's not here yet." He says. I don't speak, I just wait eagerly for the sound of a car pulling up to the Sanctuary. "There she is."

I move past him to try and peer out, maybe even walk out there, but he moves me back again, so I can only see. An old brown Buick rolls into the very front of the factory. I can make out Laura behind the wheel, while the rest of the vehicle is vacant. As soon as the car stops, she gets out and stalks towards us. She looks exhausted with sweat and dirt glistening her skin and blood spattered on parts of her clothes.

Negan opens the door a little more. "So, what the hell happened?"

She climbs the concrete steps, before entering. "We followed the trucks that escaped out the back. They had some people waiting in the woods along the road." Laura looks over at me, giving me a brief, but piercing gaze. "They opened fire as we were driving. I ducked behind a truck and ran off as soon as I could, when the shooting stopped."

"They took out everyone?"

"Yes, sir," Laura nods curtly, "They...dropped before they knew what hit 'em."

"Fuck," Negan curses, "Alright, any chance that we could recover the cars and whatever those fucking asshole didn't steal off our dead?"

"What about Dwight?" I cut in.

Laura's eyes set on me and it makes instantly uneasy. She scoffs,"Oh, D? He's…" She scans my waiting face and twists her mouth to the side, looking down.

"Spit it out." Negan orders.

"He's...he's gone," She finally relays, "Last time I saw him, he'd been hit."

I keep looking at her like there's more. Like she's going to tell me that there's a chance he's still alive. She didn't say dead, right? She said hit and that could mean anything. He said he'd see me in the morning.

"Alright, well, I guess I'm down fifteen good men," Negan gripes, "If you got any injures, have the doctor patch you up."

"Yes, sir." Laura walks around us, refusing to look at me this time.

I start to feel a loss of hope when she leaves. It's like a split suspended feeling, like when you're in between slipping and waiting to hit the ground. The pressured bending has intensified. My shoulders feel heavy and the wall I tried to keep up has cracked. _Gone?_

"You alright?"

I look up at Negan and close my lips, forcing them to not squirm with emotion. I try my best to straighten out my face, until I can meekly nod. I then turn and begin to tread away.

"Nan." He calls after me, but I keep going. "Nan!"

I don't respond to him that time either. I have to get away from him. To get away from everyone; I have to be alone. I want to be alone. _No, you don't_. I want to be with-

"Goddamn it," Negan halts me by my arm, sternly tugging me back to face him, "Dont fucking me chase after you again, do you understand me?"

My lost eyes gaze into his dark pair and all I can do is look. An ache in my throat forbids me to confirm that I understand, or retort that I didn't make him do anything.

Negan scowls at me, while his eyes survey my face. To some surprise, he's features start to fade. He heavily sighs, frustrated, looking off to the side and letting my arm go.

"I told you not to fucking tag along," He snarls, "Did I tell you not to set yourself up for this?"

"I'm sorry." I manage to croak, so below my breath that I doubt he could hear me fully.

"It's...fine," He reluctantly tells me, "Go back to your apartment."

 _Gladly_. I shift away from him and walk as quick as I can to our room without seeming like I'm on the verge of a meltdown. When I make it, I enter the dark room and shut the door behind me. My breathing tries to unsteady and push tears to the surface, but I fight it.

I start to pace a little, digging at my thumb. Gone? It can't be. This can't be real. He said he'd see me in the morning. _Gone?_ Gone as in dead? He can't just leave me. He can't just die while I'm still here, alive and pregnant.

He said everything would be fine, but this isn't fine. And...I told him he couldn't possibly know that. What did I do? No, this isn't my fault. Just like Charlie wasn't my fault. But...if I hadn't relied on Charlie so much, then he wouldn't have let his guard down and gotten bit. And Dwight? I needed him, too. I still need him. How am I supposed to survive here without him? Everything I have is because of him. Because he looked after me...because he cared about me. _And now he's gone_.

I lick the corner of my mouth as a salty tear trailed down my face. I wiggle my nose to keep more from getting out. Finally, I nod to myself and swallow everything down. I can't do this; I can't let myself get so worked up. I don't want the cramps to come back.

I place my hand on my stomach, looking down at my pregnancy. I have to get a hold of myself, before I completely crumble. I take several deep breaths, catching each sharp, despairing jut that would have me breakdown.

I remove my clothes while calming myself, deciding to crawl into bed, because sleep will put all my inconsolable thoughts to rest.

…

" _Whoa, whoa!" He embraces me gently. "Easy. What's the matter, baby?"_

" _He's- he's gone!" I wail into his chest that smells like wet earth._

 _The woods are dark and stormy. Rain pours down by the buckets, as thunder rolls in the sky above._

" _Who's gone?" Charlie asks, stroking my hair._

" _H-Him!" I say, as if I don't know his name, or can't remember. "He's gone!"_

" _Stop crying, Nan." He calmly hushes me._

" _I-I can't!" I miserably sob against him._

" _Shh," He soothes, "It's okay, baby."_

" _No, it's not!" I snap. Lightning cracks beyond us. "It's not okay, Charlie! He's dead." My face scrunches, "Oh, god, he's dead!"_

" _I know, it's hard, kid, but you gotta calm down."_

" _Don't tell me to calm down!" I pull myself away from him. "I lost him and now I'm alone. Again."_

" _You'll be okay," Charlie sighs, glancing off into the woods, "Luctor et emergo, right?"_

" _What?" I furrow my brows. "Oh, no, that was just something I got to make myself feel like a warrior. But, I'm not."_

" _Sure about that?"_

" _Yes, I am," I can't see anything beyond the trees a few feet away, "I'm weak. I always have been."_

" _Well, why not change?"_

" _Because."_

" _Because…?"_

" _Because I don't know how," I confess, "All I know how to do is fail and backslide."_

" _Learn how not to fail then. Don't backslide."_

" _I...I can't."_

" _Can't, or won't?" Charlie looks over at me, raising a smile._

…

I'm jolted from sleep by the sound of a boom, boom, boom on my door. It's still dark in the room and I'm disoriented, as my chest rises and falls. The pounding hits in a trio once more, this time a little more harder.

I get up and pad over to the door, hesitant to open it up once I get there. The knocker rails against the door more rapidly, until I open it mid-knock. Laura enters before I can process what's going on. She grabs me up by my shirt and forces me back against the door, shutting it with my body.

"What are you doing?" I ask, shocked.

"Did you know?" She sharply asks me in a low, blunt whisper.

"What?"

"Did. You. Know?" She repeats, gripping the material of my shirt more tightly.

"Know what?" I nervously inquire, utterly confused. "Did I know what?"

Laura's hard eyes interrogate my confounded face intently. "You didn't?"

"What are you talking about, Laura?"

She looks off for a minute, releasing me. I smooth my shirt down, before giving her a light shove to create some distance. She swiftly slaps me, hard, across the face, causing me to involuntarily gasp.

I touch my burning cheek. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to know something," She shakes her hand out, "Now, I know."

"What did you want to know?" I murmur, tersely. "What is it you think I know?"

"I don't think you know anything." Laura answers flatly, looking at me with such an coldness that I've never seen in her before. At least, not to me.

I shut my lips and stare back. When her face doesn't yield anything, I grow angry. "Get out."

"Yeah," She scoffs, "No problem, sweetness." She goes for the door and opens it without giving me the chance to move. "Stay away from me."

"No problem, sweetness." I retort.

Laura bitterly laughs as she exits, uttering "Bitch," under her breath.

I don't know what that was about, but I know I didn't deserve it. What the hell does she think I know? And how did she conclude that I didn't without straight up asking me?

I slap my hand on the door, rushed with andrenlined anger. My hand hurts, but I ignore the sting and walk back to bed.

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy! I didn't get to FYIWAF this week, but I'm gonna have some free time this coming week to work on both fictions. Hope everyone had a good holiday and have a happy new year! xxxx**

 **CLTex: Yeah, I'd say she's gonna have a rough go of it now that Dwight's currently MIA.**

 **Urmessismine: I'm glad you stumbled across Save Yourself, too! I also happy you enjoy the story!**

 **StTudnoBright: Well, now you can put your worries to rest, because Harlan decided to stay lol. And I agree, Nan was smart to stay, instead of trying to risk running away with him and Gabriel.**


	45. You Are Still Alive, Nan

The morning is cool, despite it being miserably hot the last couple of days. It won't last long; it's only a weak breeze that'll be thwarted by the hour. The calender says that summer will be winding down soon, but the heat is defying. I wake up to an empty bed, again. And while I feel like sinking into the bed and remaining there until I'm completely absorbed by it, I make myself follow routine.

After rolling onto my back, looking up to the ceiling for something, and then feeling my growing stomach, I drudge out of bed to wash up and make breakfast. In silence, I ready myself for the day; buttering up my skin and stirring the oatmeal every few minutes. When the food's ready, I fight grief that makes me nauseous and force down half the bowl. Then, I go to dress for work.

My shirts are getting a little tight, some of them barely fit over my twenty-three week pregnant belly. It's strange how much a difference four weeks makes without my realizing it. I take down one of Dwight's flannel shirts and throw it on, so my bump will be slightly veiled from view. If it gets too hot, I can just rolled the sleeves.

I leave a little early to go see Hal. We haven't discussed anything much on the matter of Dwight being gone, but I like to see him every morning before work and every evening after. All we do is briefly chat for five minutes. Not like we usually do, but it's still something.

I softly knock on his door and wait. I roll my eyes when I hear Laura's voice telling Hal something with a snarky tone. When the door opens, I scowl at her as she stands before me.

"Morning." She tersely smiles.

"Good morning," I greet back with just as much airiness, "Hi, Hal."

"Hey, gorgeous." He smiles, holding a steamy mug of tea."How's it going?"

"It's going," I dryly joke, trying not to acknowledge Laura as she continues to dress, "I'm officially twenty-three weeks today."

"Yeah, I can tell," He chuckles, "Are you gonna go see Dr. Carson?"

"No," I shake my head, "I'm gonna wait some more."

Hal nods, uneasy. "Alright." He looks over at Laura, who's giving him an annoyed gaze. "Well, you look great. Healthy, I mean."

"Thank you." I smile, "I'll see ya later."

"Sure, love."

I give Laura a quick glance, before I head to work. I don't know what crawled up her ass, but she hasn't really spoken to me since the night she got back. She came banging on _my_ door at midnight, held _me_ up against it by the collar, accused _me_ of knowing god knows what, slaps _me_ , and then has the audacity to tell me to stay away from her? I thought we were friends; I lived with her for a few weeks. I don't get why she all of the sudden is so against me, but I don't care. I don't have time on my daily to-do list to worry about being liked.

I regret taking the job as the overseer of the workers. I've managed to take an indifference with them, because it's how I can get through the day without arguing, or sparring with them if they are being difficult, or say snide, passive things. Still, it makes the days long.

Aside from the gardens, the coops, and the mechanic's yard, no one who isn't a Savior is permitted to be outside. Those places are guarded by Saviors to not only ensure that the workers won't get any ideas about running with the fences still in repair, but to keep those areas manned in case we should have anymore visitors.

But we haven't; so far we haven't received word or fire from any of them. It's been four weeks of nothing, except our own planning and rebuilding. From what I gathered, Alexandria was destroyed, the Kingdom was taken over by Gavin's former outpost, and the Hilltop is under lock and key, so they can still grow crops for us.I also heard that all the people in the Kingdom managed to escaped; everyone except the king. No one's head from Rick and the people who got out that night, but Negan's not lowered the defense level; knowing that it's only a matter of time.

And while I am a Savior, I am the only Savior that is not allowed outside. When I need something from the workers, I radio the guards outside and they have a worker meet me by the entrance to hand me any reports they're tasked with writing down. I think the idea is that I'll be safe from being a target if and when Rick Grimes and his people decide to retaliate, as well as making my job a little easier.

But it just makes me feel confined. Despite vast majority of the windows being broken, the air still feels balmy and the breeze never seems to be forgiving if it manages to make it to me. And I don't think Negan's trying to be as easy on me as he wants me to believe. He wants me to be jaded by the ingratitude and spite the workers show me. He knew that they would be difficult to work with, because they don't like me and he wanted me to see that. Negan wanted me to regret my words and, in truth, I think I do, but I'm not going to admit that out loud.

"You got everything done?" Reed walks into his office, glancing through the papers on his clipboard.

"Yeah, it's all here." I hand my work to him, while sitting in my chair.

"You distributed points?"

"Yes."

"And you collected all the deductions?"

"Yes."

Reed nods. "And you-"

"Yes, I unlocked the commissary for Terry and made sure there was no contraband being traded," I flatly claim, "I know how to do my job."

"Yeah, well…" He looks off to the side.

"Well, what?"

"You've been a little less diligent lately."

I give a look. "I made one mistake and it wasn't that big of a deal."

"No, you made three errors and, while they weren't major, I had to fix them, which is extra fucking work I didn't want to do."

"Then why didn't you just have me do it?"

Reed shrugs. "You didn't do it right the first time…"

I huff, "People make mistakes Reed."

"Well, I don't have time for mistakes." He retorts hotly. I glance out the window in silence, clasping my hands together in my lap. Reed exhales, "Look, I don't mean to be an ass, kid. It's just that I'm being depended on to handle a lot of shit, double because of the war, and it's got me all on edge."

I return my gaze to him. He appears to be sincere, but that's always how Reed is. Whether he's speaking to me, or a worker, or some other Savior; Reed's alway been rather candid. And while he's a Savior, I've never gotten the wholest impression that he was unfair to any of the workers, simply because he had the power to. In fact, he's occasionally ignored another Savior's deduction of points towards a worker, if he felt it was petty, or unwarranted. For that, as well as the even ground he commonly uses to approach the workers; the workers tend to like him. He doesn't abuse his authority, he does his job and keeps the balance of the factory floor, which consequently keeps the Savior's lives balanced. Negan's lucky to have him.

His eyes survey mine briefly, before he gets to work on the logs. He's also that sort of person. He says what he has to say and moves on, without the need of a confirmed acceptance of an apology, or the knowledge that I'm not upset by his words.

"Do you need me to stay and help?"

"No," He shakes his head, "Since we haven't been collecting from the working communities, our logs are smaller and it'd just be a waste of time to have two people doing a one man job."

"Okay," I nod, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good night."

…

The water is barely warm, but just tepid enough to be bearable to stand under. I remind myself that I only have fifteen minutes, probably about eight now, to shower, so I squeeze some body wash into my hand to lather up. There's chit chat here and there, as the other Savior women talk amongst themselves, while I work shampoo around my scalp.

From the periphery of my eyes, I can make out a few quick glances and faintly hear some little whispers every now and then. From what I can seem to pick up, it's nothing terribly rude, or cruel; it's mostly just pitying and wondering of whether or not I'll "go back". I won't.

My water shuts off in perfect timing, because Laura enters the bathrooms by time I reach for my towel. She blatantly ignores my existence, talking to some other woman by the sinks. I dry off and dress as quick as possible, so I can get out of there and go see Hal. It'll be less uncomfortable without her.

"Hey," He smiles as soon as he opens the door, "How was your day?"

"It was alright," I inform, standing just outside the doorway, "Yours?"

"Fine," Hal glances over my shoulder, "You want to come inside? We could put the kettle on and maybe have some-"

"No, thank you," I smile at him, "I think I'm gonna go back to my place and make something there."

"Invite me over."

"Maybe another night."

"Tonight," Hal insists.

"No."

He reluctantly nods his head, sighing, "Alright, love. Another night, then."

I feel bad for being so standoffish, especially with the one person who doesn't deserve it, but I don't want to have anyone over, so to speak.

"Have you and Laura been together much since she came back?"

"That's a bit private, isn't it?" He lightly jokes.

"I mean, have you been spending time together?"

"I suppose so," Hal guesses, "Why?"

"Has she mentioned anything about that night?"

"No…" His brows furrow, "Why?"

"No reason," I claim, "I was just curious."

"Maybe it's for the best, yeah?"

I bleakly nod. "Sure."

 **...**

I burned the packeted soup on the stove, but I'll eat it anyway. I try to change some things around tonight in my routine. I usually just try to eat dinner, wash my face, apply the cocoa butter, and be in bed by seven. Tonight, I decided I need to doing something different. I need to think about more than me; I need to think about our baby.

I turn on the T.V., putting on The Twilight Zone that I traded for Who's the Boss? from Everett and attempt to figure out how to crochet a pair of baby booties. I don't really know how, I don't possess the same skill that some of the workers possess, or even Frankie appears to have. But, I remember my grandma trying to teach me and so I'm going to at least try.

It's really hard though. It's easy enough to start; make a slip knot, bring the yarn over from back to front, stick the yarn through the blah, blah, blah. But after the first few little steps, I don't even begin to understand where to go from there. How the hell do I make booties? I've only ever made scarves small enough for mice. Shit, I messed up.

After an hour of screwing up and starting over, amid getting distracted by the television, I do give up and decide to put it away for another day. I make room on the shelves behind me, in a place that won't disrupt what Dwight had set up there in the first place. The bass trophy catches my sight, crooked and staring at me with it's mouth hanging open.

I reach up to fix it upright, but like all the other times, it doesn't work. I sigh, before I just take it down like I told Dwight he should've done about a thousand times before he… Without fully bringing down, I place it back up on the wall, relenting on letting it tilt however it wants.

Before my next move, which would just be to crawl into bed, a sudden, but powerful knocking startles me. I turn around and look towards the door. The silence is thick and I already know who it is. He has a way of knocking that never has you guessing who it is. Yet, I stand where I am without any intention of going over and answering. Not even when he pounds again. Instead, I pad over to the light switch and flick off the lights, then the T.V. _Go away_.

I hear his husky chuckle from outside. "Anna." I don't answer, especially since he knows I don't like when he calls me by my full name. "Nan." Silence. "Come on, baby, don't make me have to take the door off it's fuckin' hinges."

I storm over and open the door, before he has time to knock again, or make good on something he would totally do. "Yes?"

Negan's smile is impatient. "Did ya really fuckin' think killin' the lights would work?"

I glance at the side of the door, "I was about to go to bed."

"Bed? It's seven-thirty, grandma."

"Well, I'm tired."

"Don't you get up early?"

"At six."

Negan gathers his brows at me, before cocking one. "You sleep for eleven hours every night?"

I shrug, wonder why it's any of his concern. "I guess."

"Jesus," He curses under his breath, "I sure as hell am not a doctor, but I'm pretty fuckin' sure that's too long."

"Okay." I blandly say with scant regard.

He glances me over. "How have you been since last we spoke?"

I shrug again. "Fine."

"If made you pick any other fucking word other than 'fine', what would you pick?"

"I don't know."

Negan nods, trying not make it seem like he's holding in his annoyance with the biting of his lip. "You're twenty-three weeks today, huh?"

"Yeah."

"That's...what? Six months?"

"Yes."

"Wow," He grins, raising his brows into his forehead, "Hard to fucking believe, ain't it? That you only got three more months to go?"

I only offer a meek, somewhat uncomfortable smile. A smile, which doesn't look to be good enough, because his falters at my complexion. His eyes search for something in my face, before he sighs.

"Can I come in?"

I glance to the side again, puzzled. "Um, I-"

He pushes the door all the way and stalks past me. "The asking was more of a fucking formality than it was an actual question. As was the knocking."

I hesitate, before closing the door. I watch him walk about the small room, as if there's much to cover. I feel a spike of anxious frustration whenever he lifts, or inspects something. I have the impulse to tell him to stop, or go right behind him to straighten up after his carelessness. But, I don't, because I don't want him to think there's something the matter, because then he'll never leave. I'll just do it after he's gone.

"What's this?" He points to the tangled mess of white yarn.

"I was trying to crochet."

"Crochet what?"

"Never mind," I touch my elbow, "It's not gonna happen."

Negan walks over to my fridge, opening it up and reaching inside. "Fridge is looking a little empty."

"So is everyone's, I imagine," I scratch the skin of my thumb as he fishes out the bottle opener from the drawer.

"Well, at least it's clear you aren't starving." He chuckles, before tipping back the beer in his hand.

I pull the flannel close. "What is it that you want?"

"Why is it that makes you fucking think you can just speak to me anyway you fucking want?"

I hold each of my elbows, lowering my eyes without an answer. At least an answer that I could get away with. Telling him it's because I know he's not going to do anything to me, because that would mean risking harm to the baby would be a risk in and of itself. Negan doesn't like to be challenged and haughtily claiming that I am, even in a minor way, above penalty or disciplinary action would be just that. And Negan's really good at proving you wrong by accepting your challenge and pulling you through it. So, I just keep my mouth shut and my head down.

He immediately scoffs, "Relax, baby, I'm just fuckin' with you."

I feign a plain smile. "So, how come you came here?"

"I came to see how you were," He answers, "To make sure you were doing alright."

"I am, thank you." I dig my nails into the back of my arm.

Negan looks me over and I can tell by the increase of his smile that he's doubtful. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is," I try to assure him with my raspy, meek voice, "I'm alright."

"Then why does it look like you fucking haven't slept a wink, even though you said you get eleven hours of sleep?"

"I…" I look at him and then suddenly over at the chess set that's got all the little people upright , "I'm just tired. I'm always tired."

Negan's face sinks again at the tone of my explanation. I don't really know what he expected of this meeting, but I can tell it's not going the way he wanted it to go. It's probably me; I must not be following the script.

"If it's alright with you, I'd like to go bed now."

Negan stick his tongue in his cheek, nodding his head. "Yeah, alright." He strolls up to me, until he's right in front of me, towering over me. "I know you're being all independant woman over here, but if you'd like, you could-"

"I'm okay being by myself." I glance up at him. "I can manage and I don't mind."

"Even so, you're welcome to ask me for-"

"No, thank you," I quickly murmur, "I'm okay."

"Are you?"

"Yes," I say even lower.

"Yes?"

"Yes." I can feel the tears gather. "Please, go."

He exhales. "Okay, I'll go."

"Thank you."

Negan reaches over and I flinch a little, making him halt, before he uses this gloved thumb to take a tear that I didn't know was there off my face. "Goodnight, Nan."

I don't say anything more, I just stand there, waiting for him get out. His eyes take a peek downard at what I know is my pregnant stomach, because I follow his gaze. _Please don't_. I look up to examine his face and it's not long until his eyes flicker to mine. Please don't ask either.

"Goodnight." He repeats, before turning on his heels and treading to the door.

I observe him leaving, utterly bewildered by his exit, or what appeared to be a fleeing. Still, no less glad for it. I put my hand on my bump and take a deep breath.

…

Two days later, my morning sickness has come back with a vengeance. So unrelenting is my symptom, that it's carried the "morning" in "morning sickness" loosely. I haven't been able to stomach anything all day and working in the stifling factory is just making it worse. Marisol offered me some stale crackers and antacids, but I tossed them not twenty minutes later.

After getting sick for the thousandth time before two, I drudge up to the library. Lillian sits at the desk, reading quietly.

"Hi."

"Afternoon," She says without looking up, "Put your returns on the cart."

"I don't have any returns," I have a seat on the metal chair right by the door, "I haven't checked out anything in awhile."

"Why is that?" Lillian inquires, "Too in mourn to read?"

"We don't know that he's dead."

"Of course he's dead," She plainly retorts with no intention other than her honest opinion, "It's been four weeks. If he were alive, he'd have come home."

My eyes blink to the bookshelves. "I've been a little busy, so I haven't had time to read."

"Nothing provides the mind with better respite than a good book."

"I'll keep that in mind." I suddenly get up and throw up in her garbage bin.

"So then why did you come here?" She continues to read.

"Because I like being berated by you, I guess." I dryly retort, as I walk back over to the chair, taking the bin with me just in case.

Lillian arches her brow. "Well, you can recieve plenty of that downstairs."

I scoff, "Well, you have a certain way." I throw up again.

"What way is that?" She finally looks over. Caustic, rigid, and withholding. Kind of reminds me of...

I look up from the garbage bin and shake my head. "I was just being sarcastic."

Lillian gets up from her desk. "Would you like some something for your stomach?" I curiously watch as she goes to the little tea kettle that rests on what looks like a hot plate on a stool in the corner nearest her desk. "Mark brought me this, so I wouldn't have to leave the library during my work hours."

"That was nice of him."

"It was so I won't wander." She huffs, flipping on the hot plate. "Like a bird through a window."

"Oh, well, I'm sure he meant well." Sickness surges through me again. When is this gonna stop?

"He does," Lillian agrees, "He was always such a good boy. I knew she would be alright with him."

"Amber?"

She briefly looks at me, before she roams the shelves, wrapping her shawl around her. "How do you like Jane Eyre?"

"I've read it a dozen times," I sickly smile, "I read it a few months ago. Right about the time I found out I was pregnant, actually."

"And left him?"

"...Yeah."

Lillian takes a book from the shelf and walks over. "Here."

I look down at it. Jane Eyre. "I-"

"Read it again," She tells me, "Take your time."

"O-okay." I relent.

"You look green in the gills." She puts the back of her hand to my forehead, then sweeps down to my cheek.

"It's just morning sickness."

"Hm." She goes back to her desk.

"Well, I better go." I rise from the chair.

"You don't want the peppermint tea?"

"I should get back to work."

"You shouldn't be on your feet all day," She insists, "When's the last time you sat down before now?"

I sigh and sit. "Okay, but only because you already turned the hot plate on."

After dropping the book off at our room, I head back to the main hub of the factory floor. There, I find Simon, who's been gone for about a week, talking to Laura and Reed. He's been kind of walking on pins and needles since the workers almost caused an uprising on his watch. Hell, because of he was on watch. However, he's still got that eerie buoyancy about him that makes me uncomfortable. I skate under the radar as I pass and head to the kitchens, where I'm due to collect their points and deductions.

Marisol catches my eye instantly as I enter, most likely because I had seen Simon first. She looks miserable and I know she is. She doesn't want to be in the kitchens; she'd rather be working out in the mechanic's yard, because it pays better, but apparently someone brought to Reed's attention that it's not safe for her to be out there. Whoever they were was obviously compelling enough to make Reed switch her to the kitchens.

Speaking of kitchens, all the various smells would be delectable on any other given day, except today. Right now, it's unbearably nauseating. Owen's finishing distributing points as the workers stand in line, except for the three that are paid extra to stay later to serve hot meals and to prepare dinner for Negan and the wives.

"Thanks." I stifle a gag as a worker hands me her point slip. "Th-thank you." Some of them give me funny looks as I try to fight my nausea. "Tha-" Incoming!

"Fucking gross!" A worker gripes as he almost falls prey to my untimely vomit.

"Sorry."

"Get a mop!" Owen shouts, just before I puke again.

"Are you alright?" Marisol comes over with her slip.

"I'm...I'm fine," I say with the back of my hand blocking my mouth, "I'm just sick still."

"It's that weird leek soup they're making," She touches my back, "They've been stewing it all morning and it fucking stinks. Let's go."

I walk with her to the quarters, deciding to let other workers come to me with their slips. Marisol stops for a moment when she hear Simon's voice ahead. I glance over at her and try to give her a reassuring smile, without blowing chunks. She follows a little behind me, as if I'll be able to stop Simon from coming up to her.

Not that he will, necessarily. Simon doesn't want anything to do with her now that she's pregnant, even if he's knows it's his twins she's carrying. He'll stroll over to her every now and then and talk at her, but it's nothing that ever makes her relax around him. I admire Marisol for her steadfastness in that she's realized what kind of man he is and won't backslide into amusing him, or being amused by him. But that doesn't mean she doesn't get nervous whenever he's around.

"Oh, look, it's the baby brigade." Simon grins as we make it to Marisol's quarter.

Laura looks over and while I'm sure she'd laugh at that joke, if were someone else who told it, she just gives me a flippant glance. She then turns to Reed and says something inaudible from here.

"Shit, he's coming over." Marisol draws the sheet partition back.

I go to walk off, but my stomach lurches and I heave ho. I vomit right outside the quarters and it's bad. I don't even know how this is possible, considering how I haven't eaten a single meal all day.

"Well, that's not the reaction I'm use to getting from women," Simon chuckles, "Tummy upset?"

"Go clean that up." Reed instructs a worker who's got a mop and bucket. "Nan!"

"Well, best be on your way now," Simon thumbs over to Reed, "Before we run out of wet floor signs and somebody slips in it." I start to walk towards Reeds, before he adds, "Oh, and I wanted to give you my sincere condolences about Dwight."

"What?" I turn my head.

"It's just not right," He says with that nonchalant way of his, "I mean, with you having a baby on the way and all. Tragic shit, that's what that is."

"I have to go."

"As do I."

"She doesn't want to see you, or talk to you." I claim with rising nausea.

"Excuse me?" Simon raises his brow.

"Marisol doesn't want to see-"

Well, I threw up on his shoes. Simon is definitely disgusted, as I suppose one would be. I don't know why, but my throat starts to tighten like I'm going to cry. Maybe because I can feel it about to happen again.

"Nan," Reed comes over and takes my arm, "You need to go."

"I-I'm alright."

"No, you're not. You need to go back to your room and call it a day."

"But it's only-"

"I don't care," Reed walks me past Laura, "You're sick and Simon's right, we don't have enough wet floor signs."

I straighten out my face. "Okay."

"What's this?" Negan strolls up, because of course he would at the wrong time.

"Nan's been sick all day," Reed tells him, "I was making sure she got to the stairs, since she tried to argue going back to work."

"Why's she crying?" Negan asks, as if I'm not here and can't answer for myself.

Reed looks at my face, not knowing that I have a stream of tears down my face. I wasn't aware of them myself, until Negan mentioned them.

"Uh, I didn't know she was."

"I'm fine." I use the back of my hand to get rid of them.

Negan rolls Lucille's handle in his hand. "Tell Simon to head to the meeting room. I'm gonna be a minute."

"I'm sure he's gonna be a minute, too," Reed replies and when Negan looks at him in question, he says, "Because Nan got sick on his boots."

Negan chuckles, "Damn, honey! If that is not the funniest shit I've heard all day!" I don't say anything in response. "I'll take her back."

Reed nods and then stalks back from whence we came.

…

"So, what the fuck did I tell you a few weeks ago?" Negan asks me as I open the door to our room.

"I don't know." I'm pissed that he just waltzes right in behind me.

"Well, let me fucking refresh your memory," He wags his head, "I told you I didn't want you getting sick and crying all over my factory."

"This is different," I sniff, going over to the sink, "I have morning sickness, I'm not greif sick." I immediately get sick into the sink.

"And the tears?"

I take a few deep breaths. "My eyes were watering from all the heaving."

"You know something, Anna; I wasn't raised on a farm, but I fucking know bullshit when I fucking smell it."

"I'm-"

"You're fine? Alright? Okay?" Negan sardonically mocks. "Bull-fuckin'-shit you are."

I pad over to the bed and lift back the covers. "I'm gonna lie down for a little bit, so please leave."

"You think that's gonna help?" He scoffs, "Sleeping more often than you're awake?"

"It's just a nap and it'll help settle my stomach."

"You're avoiding shit."

"I'm sick and tired," I retort with a little bit of edge, "That tends to happen a lot when you're pregnant."

I don't really like to play the pregnant card, but it really is the only thing that makes Negan back off.

"Yeah, it also happens a lot when you're fuckin' avoiding reality."

"I'm not avoiding anything." I croak, pulling the blankets tighter to me.

"You think sleeping and isolating yourself from people who want to help you is gonna make things better? Manageable? But you can't avoid the truth, Nan, that Dwight..." He sighs heavily behind me, "That Dwight isn't coming back. He's dead and if he weren't, then he'd sure as shit be here."

"Dwight-"

"Dwight was a good man," Negan says with somber honesty, "I'll admit I had my obvious reservations about keeping him alive after he ran off with all the fucking insulin with Sherry and Tina, but I'm...I'm glad he proved me wrong. He manned up, he worked hard, and he didn't disappoint me. Saw the light in everything I'm trying to do for this world."

"Then why did you have him beaten and thrown in a cell when Sherry left?"

"Well, I mean, come on," He briefly chuckles, "She runs off and I'm not fucking suppose to suspect the obvious person?" I'm silent in response. "He proved me wrong too then, didn't he? Found me the real culprit behind Sherry's gutless little escape." Negan sighs, "Yep."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask, knitting my eyes at the wall.

"Because I had a lot of respect for Dwight," Negan answers with no hint of humor, or sarcasm, "He was a stand up guy, who took care of shit that needed to be taken care of. Hell, even took care of things that not a lot men would have the balls to do. He knew what it meant to save people and not just from dying."

I shift a little to glance at him in the armchair over my shoulder. "Do you mean all that? Or are you just trying to butter me up? Because if so, then you're just being cruel."

"I meant it," Negan looks at me, "I don't say shit like this often, I think you fuckin' know that, but I will say it about D."

"Because he's gone," I shift back.

"That's what you do when someone dies, right?" Negan retorts, "You say what you have to say about 'em and then get over it and move on, because that's how life works."

I scoff, "Please leave."

"We're eating at six," He tells me, as he gets out of the chair, "You're welcome to join us."

"No."

"Are you not gonna eat today?"

"I can't keep anything down."

Negan huff, "So, you're just giving up?"

"I'm not giving up," I rasp, "And I want to be alone, so please, Negan, leave."

"You are still alive, Nan," He growls, "Dwight's dead, but you aren't and you are not alone, even when you are."

I can feel bile and anger rising in me, though I remain perfectly still, waiting for him to go.

"It's not just about you anymore."

"You don't think I know that?" I speak, "It's kind of hard to forget." I sit up and look over to him with numb, harrowed eyes. "You were happy the other night when you realized I only had three months to go, before the baby comes, but I wasn't. All I think about is how I need million things before the baby is born and how I've got none of it. And I think about how scared I am and how he won't be there to tell me not to be. How all the nice things he used to do for me, things that he didn't expect me to owe him for," At that Negan looks off, "That all of that is gone and I use to laugh about how much I wanted to do those things for myself and now I don't know where to begin, accept to close off and structure a wall around myself."

"You begin by pulling yourself up by your fucking bootstraps and being an adult," Negan retorts, "Stop sleeping eleven hours, eat three meals a day, and stop moping around like a rotter. Get your shit together, because you're a mother, or you're gonna be and lying about like a sad sack of shit isn't gonna be make you any more prepared when the baby does come and Dwight..." He sighs begrudgingly, "Dwight would want you to take care of yourself."

I look at him in complete confusion. I assumed Dwight's death was small tuppence to him, since he's been giving me such a hard time about living with a man whom he believed was not the father of my child. Because he wanted me to be his wife again and this just opened the door in his mind. Right? Negan does believe that, right?

"You're right," He adds, "I do think you're weak, but you can use your weakness to become strong, if you fucking tried. All you gotta do is fucking try."

"...Okay." I mouth.

"We're having dinner at six," Negan says again, agitated, "You can come up, if you want...no strings attached."

He leaves without waiting for my response, leaving me floored.

* * *

 **If you read and thus have read my other fic, you'll know that I had some trouble posting last night and had to wait until now to post due to that and because I had a early morning shift at work. Being said; Hope you all enjoyed this week's chapter!**

 **CLTex: A lot of factors play into Laura's choice not to rat Dwight out as the traitor. You're right, if Negan did find out, Nan could be in trouble if he thought she might have some involvement. Whether or not Laura will tell Nan in private, I'm not sure.**

 **Kara315: Thank you for the kind words! I want Dwight back with Nan, too! Yeah, Laura was definitely out of line and is unjustly venting out on Nan.**

 **urmessismine: I think she thinking about leaving, but was smart enough to know it'd be a bad idea. Doesn't mean she won't deeply regret it... I'm sure if she knew that Dwight was "dead" or on the other side, she would've been ballsy enough to try. Maybe next time.**

 **Mamabear20162017: Lol Who said anything about this being the end? Dwight's not dead and he may choose to brave it back to Sanctuary...or bust Nan out. *shrugs***

 **StTudnoBright: I agree, Laura shouldn't have hit Nan, nor does she have a good reason to be angry with her now that she knows Nan is clueless, but people aren't always rational. Hal's always gonna look out for his best mate! I'm glad you were pleased with Negan's somewhat delicate approach to Nan, as well as Harlan's decision to stay.**


	46. Satisfaction

"Fuck!"

My hair tie snapped as I tried to fasten it around the button of my jeans. I only had the one left. My other two broke a few days a part. One of them was the one I used to keep my hair out of my face. I have a clip, but I haven't had a haircut in months and so it really doesn't do much for me. With my hands on my hips, I glance around the sunlit room in search for some idea of what to use instead. My jeans won't fit unless I find something to pull them together.

I take some of the yarn and try to rope my button and the hole close enough, but I soon realize I'm just making a mess for me to have to unravel whenever I need to go pee, which is like every twenty minutes. I don't have time for that. I ball the yarn up and irritably toss it in the garbage, before going to the drawer. What I wouldn't give for a pair of those pregnancy pants with the soft elastic band that my cousin Joy use to wear whenever she was pregnant.

After I find nothing in the drawer, I peer over to the folded flannels on the top of the locker. I wonder if Dwight's pants would fit me? I open the locker and take out a pair. My fingers gingerly touch the denim fabric; maybe I shouldn't. I mean, I already wear his flannels shirts. It seems a little sad, or at least something I would think was sad and pitiable if I saw someone else wearing their dead...baby's father's clothes.

That's another thing; what am I supposed to call him, even now that he's dead? We never called one another anything other by our names. Was he my boyfriend? Was I his girlfriend? I guess it doesn't matter now, but we were together and it still weighs in my mind. _Stop it_.

I shake out the pants and decide to give them a go. They fit okay enough, up until I have to button them.

"Damn it."

I don't know why I thought it would work. Dwight wasn't necessarily the most robust guy. Back to the drawing board.

As I fiddle around the room for a new solution, a gentle hand knocks on my door. God, I almost wish Negan would've taken the hinges off my door. I'm so tired of people knocking almost every single day. With the pants unbuttoned, I go to the door and answer it. To some surprise, I find Danica standing outside.

"Good morning." She smiles.

"Morning." I greet back. I think she expects me to ask what brings her here, but if we're both being honest, we both know that Negan has in all likelihood sent her down here, like he had Tonya a few weeks back. So, I just wait in silence.

She clears her throat, a little nervous. "Uh, how are you feeling this morning? I heard you were sick yesterday."

"I'm feeling a little better," I reply, "What brings you here?"

"Oh, we're having breakfast in a little bit and we were wondering if you wanted to join us."

"We?" I naturally arch my brow. "We as in you and the other wives, or we as in Negan?"

Danica chuckles anxiously. "Well, he-"

"He told you to come down here and invite me up, didn't he?"

She exhales and nods. "Yeah, he kind of thought you'd come up last night for dinner."

"I know."

"Right, so, do you wanna come eat with us, or should I tell him I told him so?"

"I don't think so," I politely smile, "Sorry he had you come all the way down here for nothing."

"It's okay," She shrugs, however I get a notion she's a little uneasy, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"How are you doing?" I inquire, inspecting her countenance.

"Good, everything's good," Danica smiles bigger, "How bad can our lives be up there, huh?"

I nod my head. "Was he in a bad mood because I didn't show for dinner?"

"Um, he was Negan," She holds her arms, "The war's been really stressful, so he shifts into asshole mode at the drop of a hat."

"Has he been treating you badly?"

"No, no, he's just...been Negan," Danica sighs, "So, I guess I'll see ya later, then? You're starting to look like Cousin It, so maybe I can give you a trim soon."

"Yeah," I softly chuckle, "Uh, look just tell Negan I can't because...because I can't get my pants to fit."

She furrows her brows and then she glances down at my unfastened jeans. "Oh, you poor thing! You don't have anything stretchy?"

"Afraid not."

"I've got some yoga pants upstairs. I'll bring 'em to you."

"No, Danica, how will you do yoga with Frankie, if you-"

"Please, I can spare a pair." She insists.

"O-okay," I nod, smiling, "Thanks."

"Okay, see ya."

I watch her go down the hall and I want to kick myself for feeling bad enough to close the door and look for my shoes.

 **...**

Sweet lord, the stairwell smells like a dream when I finally make it up to the top floor. My stomach grumbles thunderously as soon as my nose takes a whiff of all the perfectly melded scents of the food being served that creates one glorious perfume. This is what happens after I spend a day or two puking my guts out. Once there's nothing left, I become a ravenous garbage disposal that'll practically consume anything and graze all day long.

I stand in the middle level of the stairwell, taking in the smell and trying to have a little will power to proudly chicken out and go back. But it's like an alarming beacon is barking in me to move upward and so I do with half of my self-control. I creak the door open just a smidge and listen. There's some conversation amongst the clinking of forks and knives on plates in the dining room down the hall, but it seems rather mild, instead of tensely silent.

I go all the way in, faintly closing the door behind me to stop as much noise as possible. When I don't hear the talking halt, I know I wasn't heard, so I follow the scent.

"That's not fair!" Amber's mousy voice complains.

"Fair isn't fair on the same fuckin' day, blondie," Negan retorts, "If what you have now isn't fuckin' good enough, then there are plenty of other gals that would be a little more fuckin' appreciative."

"I am grateful, Negan," She answers meekly, "I just don't know why I have to-" She falters as I come into sight.

They all collectively look my way and it makes me instantly bashful. Negan's brows slightly gather as he pauses taking a sip of his coffee.

"Good morning." I awkwardly greet, holding my hands.

"Morning." Tonya says, when Negan doesn't answer right away.

"You changed your mind." He finally speaks.

"Yeah, I, um, I changed my mind."

Negan's tongue slides along the inside of his cheek, before his smiles breaks across his face. "Well, have yourself a seat! Any available spot's a good one."

Ha-ha. I enter the room, having a seat in the only empty chair next to him. I try not to greedily shovel food onto my plate with hunger as I serve myself. I can feel the stares from all angles, but I'm too hungry to think about fleeing now. When I finally look up, the wives avert their eyes, embarrassed, and poke their food with their forks.

"What made you decided to come on up?" Negan inquires after a few minutes of watching me eat with a grin on his face. "My little pep talk last night?"

"I was out of eggs." I glide some butter jam on some toast.

"I'll have someone bring you some more."

"No," I shake my head, "That's okay. I'll get my own later when I go to the coops."

"You aren't allowed outside," He reminds me, "The guards know that."

"I'll have a worker bring me some when they bring their point slips, although I don't see why I can't do it myself."

"Really?" Negan scoffs in disbelief. "You can't think of one, maybe two good fucking reasons why not?"

"No." I stubbornly answer.

"Bullets and teeth; that's fucking why not."

Frankie clears her throat from across the table. "You look great, Nan! You've really got that pregnancy glow everyone's always talking about."

"Oh, thanks." I smile, grateful that she's purposely changed the subject.

"Do you know what you're having?" Hazel asks.

"No, because she hasn't gone to see the doctor in weeks." Negan rudely answers for me.

I ignore him and glance over to Hazel. "No, I don't know yet."

"I think you're having a boy," She claims, drinking her orange juice.

"Oh?" I curiously raise my brow. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I heard if you have really bad morning sickness, it means you're having a boy."

"What?" Danica scoffs. "Where did you hear that?"

"My mom once told me that she had the worst morning sickness of her life when she was pregnant with my older and younger brothers."

"So, your mom's experience speaks for Nan's?"

Hazel shrugs in response.

"I think it's actually girls that are suppose to make you more morning sick," Tonya looks over at Frankie, "Right?"

"Jesus," Negan rolls his eyes, "Show of hands of anyone that has any actual knowledge of this shit."

Nobody raises their hands, which makes him huff, half-humored, half-annoyed as he drinks his coffee.

"All I heard was that the higher the heart rate, the more likely it's a girl." Frankie adds.

"What was the heart rate at your last ultrasound?" Hazel asks me with an eager smile.

I glance around the table as I chew my food. I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "Um, I...I don't remember. It was a while ago."

Am I a bad prenatal mother for not remembering that? I know Harlan told me, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was at this time.

"As fun as it is to listen to all your old wive's tales," Negan wryly chimes in, "Dr. Carson has actual medical equipment that can tell Nan what she's got in the oven."

I look over at him, honestly a little grateful that he put an end to the silliness. But I don't convey that, because I also know what he's getting at. I go back to eating without a response.

His finger taps on the table. "Did you take what I said into consideration?"

"I've decided to be more proactive," I plainly tell him, "Or at least try."

"That's my girl." He grins, looking me over. "Dani said you couldn't get your pants buttoned."

"Mhm," I swallow the mouthful of sausage and pancakes, "I broke my last hair tie."

"Sorry?"

"I used a hair tie to keep my pants together," I say with another mouthful, "I broke the last one I had this morning."

"Go down to the commissary and get a bigger size. Has be a better idea than your hillbilly fix."

"The pant size isn't the problem," I sip some water, "My stomach's getting rounder, not my hips."

"Agree to disagree," Negan chuckles, "What? You are a little ample. Were before we knew you were knocked up, though I guess we now know why."

"The pants need to be able to stretch around her belly." Tonya informs him with a small roll of the eyes, "Her hips and thighs have nothing to do with it...I didn't mean that to sound rude."

"It's okay," I tap the napkin around my mouth, while looking at the clock, "I have to go. I have work."

"Nah, stay awhile," Negan insists, "The workers are self starters. You don't have to collect anything until later on."

"I don't like sitting around," I scoot back my chair, "Thank you for breakfast."

"Hey, wait," Danica gets up as well, "I'll get you those pants."

"Don't worry about it," I blandly smile, "I'll be fine."

"Please, I insist." She walks past me and into her bedroom.

"Danica, I really don't feel comfortable in leggings," I stand in her doorway.

"The waist goes past the belly button and are really stretchy." She hands them to me.

"I..." I sigh, accepting them.

"Cut the waistband off and use it as one of those preggo bands, dummy." She puts her hands on her hips.

"Oh." That's a smart idea. "I guess that could work."

"Here, I've got some scissors in the drawer in the bathroom." Danica moves around me.

"I'll do it later."

"Stop being so stubborn and come on!" She groans.

Reluctantly, I follow her into the bathroom. I watch her fish out a pair of those slanted medical shears from the drawer of the sink. When I hear prominent strides in the hall, I push the door behind me nearly closed.

"Can I see the pants?" She puts her hand out.

"Here."

Danica cuts along the black yoga pants with careful precision. When she's removed the band of fabric from the bottom, she lightly pulls them left and right to see how far they'll go.

"Maybe we should hem the bottoms to make sure they don't fray."

"That's alright, really." I assure her, eager to leave the top floor.

"It'll do you no good, if it just unravels after two uses," She tells me, "Frankie's got a sewing machine."

"Danica, I-"

"Negan's right; you don't have much to do until later." She gives me a can't-be-fooled look. "You don't think we know how slow things are right now?"

"I came for breakfast, so Negan wouldn't be mad at you," I reveal to her, "That's all. I didn't come to hang out."

"You're not," She huffs, "You're fixing your pants problem, so you won't have to keep adjusting your pants all day, because they won't button. And so none of those perverts stare at your crotch."

I resist the urge to pull the jeans I'm wearing up after she says that. "How long will it take?"

"Less than ten minutes."

"...Fine." I sigh.

It really does take Frankie only ten minutes to hem the ends of the waistband. I wait in the bathroom, leaning on the rim of the tub, alone. When Danica returns with them, I'm relieved to try it out and then go to work.

"It might be tricky to put it on over your shoes and jeans, so you should probably undress a little."

"Okay." I take my shoes and Dwight's jeans off without any shyness, considering I know Danica.

"Alright, now slide it up as far as you can," She holds it out for me, bending a little, so I can step into it.

"Hurry the fuck up" Negan opens the door, "I've got take a piss. Whoa-ho- ho!" My cheeks burn bright as he spots me without pants. "Like old times, eh, ladies?"

"Get out." Danica demands without raising her voice.

"Alright, alright, just don't start any of the dirty stuff without me."

Danica shakes her head as she continues to help me wiggle the band up to my hips and over my tummy. "Perfect."

I tug on the jeans. Danica's trick worked, the band seamlessly fit over the unbuttoned pants and it looks as if everything's normal. "It fits."

"See," She smiles at me, "All that waiting paid off."

"Thank you." I tell her again, "I better go."

"Alright, let me know when you want to cut your hair."

I exit the bathroom and when I see Negan leaning against the opposite wall. I don't have anything to say to him, so I just quietly head to the stairwell door.

"Hey," He calls behind me, "Hang on a minute, would ya?"

"What?" I turn, right as I open the door.

"How come you changed your mind?" He asks, "And I want the truth."

"Because you wouldn't have stopped coming by, or sending the girls, if I didn't," I retort, looking down at my hand on the handle, "And maybe because...you were right."

Negan raises his brows into his forehead, in shock and amusement. "I'm sorry? Could you repeat that? I don't think I've ever fuckin' heard you admit to that."

I scoff, "You were right; I need to pick up and pull myself together. It's what Dwight would want me to do."

At the mentioning of Dwight, Negan's smile lessens a bit. If he didn't want me to come to that conclusion last night as I lay in bed, mulling over his words, than he shouldn't have said them. I don't know what else to say and he appears to have no response to that, so I continue to be on my way.

"Wait," He gently takes my arm to keep me back, "What are you doing for dinner?"

I glance up at him. "Probably just...butter, cheese, and noodles."

"Come back up here around six. Eat with us again."

"Negan, I...appreciate you inviting me and the food was delicious, but-"

"You aren't gonna eat as good as you will up here with me," He enlightens me, "Food's gonna get a little scarce, until we can reign the working communities in and a woman of your condition needs proper meals. Not whatever loner cuisine you scrape up in your room."

His words echo Dwight's in my head. "...What about Marisol?" Once again, I get angered that he doesn't know her by name. "The pregnant worker? Are you going to invite her to dine with you?"

"No, I'm not." He admits.

"So, I'm the only woman of my condition that matters?"

Negan snickers as he exhales. "It's a little different, Nan."

"Why?" I lightly press him, "Because she's no one to you?"

"Nan." His tone warns.

I nod, clearly disappointed. I free my arm from his grasp. "I think I'm good fending for myself tonight."

 **...**

Work is pretty slow. Negan and Danica weren't wrong; I am sort of free most of the day. My job has been so condensed by Negan to not only teach me a lesson about standing up for the workers, but also so I won't strain myself working. I'm not fragile, but there's no point in trying to talk to him about it, especially now that I'm as far along as I am.

On top of rolling morning sickness, I've also had gas. Not just flatulence, but painful gas that hardens in my tummy. The farting I can handle and not give a fig about, but the other kind is worse than the cramps I had weeks ago. Around noonish, I decide to go pay Harlan a visit to see if he has any tablets I can take. Father Gabriel has been pulling through, though he is still unwell. He spends most of his time in the bed they dragged into the infirmary for his recovery, but I have seen him from time to time weakly walking by the garden and coops for prescribed fresh air. When I enter the infirmary, he's resting in the bed, asleep.

"Long time, no see," Harlan claims with surprise to see me, "Here for a check up?"

"No, I was just wondering if you had any gas tablets."

"Those aren't usually logged in the medicine cabinets," He goes over to the glass cabinets, "They're usually in the commissary, right?"

"Not as of now and if the workers have any, they won't trade with me."

"I've got some...oh, actually, I do have some tablets for you."

"Thank you." I pop 'em in my mouth and chew.

"You look really good," Harlan glances down at my stomach, "That's a nice, healthy looking pregnancy bump, if I do say so myself."

I chuckle. "Thanks."

"So, how about that exam?" He smiles, "I haven't seen you since we spoke a few weeks ago."

"I've been...busy."

"Are you busy now? I could fire up the ultrasound unit."

"Oh, I'm okay for now, thanks."

"Nan, you really should think about you're next physical," The doctor firmly recommends, "You haven't had one since early July and I'd like to make sure things are going along smoothly."

"Well, I...I just don't know if I'm ready," I openly confess.

His eyes grow sympathetic. "I was sorry to hear about Dwight's passing. I didn't really know him, but I'm sure he was a good man."

"Yeah," I sigh, "I have to go back to work."

There's a wheezy cough that startles me. I look behind me to see Gabriel wake. Harlan goes over and offers the glass of water by his bedside.

"This is Nan," He tells the sick man, "She's the one I was telling you about. Dwight's...widow."

An agonizing bending weighs in me, leaving me almost winded. "I'm not his widow. I-I wasn't married to him."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know how else to put it." He apologizes, realizing my discomfort.

"It's okay," I take a jaded breath, trying to not let tears rise, "I have to go now, so I'll..."

"See you later," Dr. Carson finishes, smiling, "Have a good one."

A smile worms across my face as I hold it in. I look to the priest and his eyes are curiously on me. I'm not sure what to make of it, so I just leave.

I hurry along down the hall with all the emotion gathering firm in my chest. Damn these hormones. As I wipe some water from my eyes, I accidentally collide into someone. I stumble back a bit, but manage to catch my balance.

"Sorry, I..." The teary-eyed blurriness fades and I focus on Eugene.

"No apologies necessary, ma'am," He promptly retorts.

I want to say something else to him, but I know it'll not be very nice. He's just staring at me with what looks like no amount of suspecting that I know he tried to put Dwight's life in danger when his own was jeopardy. Just as I'm about to go away from him, he speaks.

"I'd like to offer up my sincerest-"

"I'm sure you would," I cut him off, "But I don't want your phony condolences, Eugene."

He remains aloof, though I can see the slight confusion in the knitting of his eyebrows. "I was attempting to be genuine."

"Yeah, well, you're not, are you?" I scoff, cleaning the tears from my face.

"If that erroneous implication is in regards to Dwight, then I think I ought to defend my honor by informing you that-"

"You know what?" I put my hand up. "Dwight cared about the people here. He was trying to get everyone to work together when your people broke down our gates, trapping all of us inside. And he defended you, because you can't defend yourself and when the your people came back to finish the job, he-"

"It was my plan and strategy that got us out of that hazardous predicament." Eugene claims.

"Yeah, while everyone else, Dwight included, went out to fight the dead. You just sat on your ass, inside."

"My expertise isn't best applied to the-"

"To anything that requires an ounce of gumption?" I cock my brow at him. "Yeah, I guessed that. You only care about yourself."

Eugene stares at me for a moment, before nodding. "That is not entirely a false statement. Surviving anyway possible is my strong suit."

"Yeah," I huff, "I have to go." I walk around him.

"If I may add," Eugene adds as I start to walk off, "I know that you must care for him a great deal." I roll my eyes as I continue to walk down the hall. "That being the general assessment and all...I am sorry that you were left here."

I halt in my tracks, looking over my shoulder. "He didn't leave me. Your people killed him."

 **...**

Reed looks exhausted as he comes stalking into the office around four. He plants it in his chair and groans in frustration. "Got all the point cards and deductions?"

"Yes," I push my clipboard to him, "I even totaled it all out while I was waiting."

"Good work." He replies.

"Can I go for the evening?" I ask him, nearly rising out of my seat.

"Yeah, sure."

"Thanks."

"Hang on," He says, so I shift my body to look at him peering at some papers, "Everything looks good, but from now on; 51 doesn't have to pay for food, so any points today she used are exempt from deductions, if they were used for food."

"51?" I touch the doorframe, "You mean, Marisol?"

Reed looks at the main worker log clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth as he browses. "...Marisol Gomez, worker 51. Yep, that's the one."

"She doesn't have to pay for food?"

"Nope," Reed confirms by shaking his head, "The boss said she gets a pass, since she's expecting."

"Oh," I oddly glance at the red metal frame of the door, "Alright. Goodnight."

"Night."

I tread toward the stairs in mild amazement, but mostly I'm dumbfounded. Did I do that? Did I weigh on Negan and make him do the right thing? A little, timid smile forms as I walk.

Back at my place, I wash up a little to get the sweat and grime of the day off my face. I then gather up some clothes and head off to the laundry room to wash some things. Technically, I could just do it here, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be around people even if it doesn't lead to conversation.

I really have taken what Negan said into some consideration. It isn't about me anymore; I have to do what's best for my baby and it's going to take more than just attempting to knit booties, or taking vitamins to see to that. I have to be stronger than that. Dwight would want me to carry on and provide for our child, so that's what I'm going to do.

The laundry room's usually pretty hot and steamy, so there's not very many people there today when I get in on account of the increase of heat. Laura's there; washing her clothes while some strands of hair stick to her dewy face. Her eyes flicker to me almost immediately, but her face doesn't move an inch. I take my basket over to the next available spot, before go to fetch a pail of warm water to clean my clothes.

I want so badly to walk right up to her and ask what the hell her problem is, but she's not Eugene. She'd mop the floor with me if I got too brazen. Admittedly, I am hurt by how she acted. I'm trying to shrug it off and it usually isn't that hard for me to do, but like I said before, she was my friend and I've never given her any reason to do what she did. I lived with her for Christ's sake.

"Hi, Nan," Everett comes up to the side of me with clothes of his own, "How's it hangin'?"

"Uh, okay, I guess," I lightly scrub some fabric together, "How are you?"

"Aces," He smiles, "When you gonna let me give you a new tattoo?"

I snicker, "I don't think anytime soon, Rett."

"Maybe after the kid comes?"

"Maybe." I smile, before I catch Laura staring at me from the corner of my eye.

"Cool," He nods, "I've been getting better at it."

"Have you?"

"Yeah," Rett dips his shirt into some water, "I even know what your next one can be."

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"Whatever you decide to name the little titty leech, I'll tattoo it on wherever you want."

I chuckle, "I'll think about it."

"Yep, it's shame," He sighs, "You know that little baby girl that Prick and his people kidnapped after they fuckin' murdered her dad?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Ellis had 'Grace be to God' put on his left pec. I was the one who did it when I went out there to help fix some electrical problems."

"Was Grace her name?"

"Yeah, she was a cute little thing," Everett sighs again, "Sure hope they kept her alive."

"They...they wouldn't kill a baby."

"How do you know?" He inquires.

"I..." About this time, I realize that Laura's been listening in by the direct stare she's given me, before wringing out her wet garment, "I don't." The way she's looking at me is so peculiar.

"Look, I don't like to think anyone's sick enough to kill a little baby, but in this fuckin' world, you'd be surprised what people will do." At that Laura scoffs, which prompts Rett to look over his shoulder. "You got something to say?"

"Nope." She replies without missing a beat.

"Then why don't you wash your clothes and butt out?"

"Why don't you stop trying to play tattoo artist with that dirty hunk of junk? You're gonna give someone tetanus."

"What the fuck do you know?"

Laura snidely chuckles, covered in more tattoos than anyone here. "A lot more than you, needle dick."

"You know, Laura, I liked you a lot better before you came back."

"You did?" She makes a mocking pout of her lip.

"Fuck you! Get your panties out of twist."

"You gonna trade me a joint for 'em?" She chuckles, glancing at me, before she exits.

"Bitch." He mutters, going back to his laundry.

My eyes, wide, follow her out the door, and then fix on Rett. "Did you tell other people I traded my underwear to you?"

"No," His brows furrow in bewilderment, "Dwight told me not to, after he decked me, remember?"

I look back towards the empty entrance. Then how did she know that? _Dwight?_ "Can you watch my stuff for a minute?"

"Sure."

"Thanks," I start to go, before I warn; "Keep out of it." I leave the laundry room and turning my head to the left, where she's still in sight. "Hey!" I hurry towards her as she still makes distance between us. "Laura! Laura, wait!"

"What?" She abruptly stops and faces me.

I put the brakes on a few feet from here. "Who told you about that?"

"About what?"

"About me giving Rett a pair of my underwear for a joint?"

She shrugs dismissively. "Hal."

"Hal didn't know," I tell her, "Only Dwight knew. Did he tell you?"

Laura exhales, annoyed. "Yeah, alright? He told me."

I don't believe it. "He didn't want people to know."

She scoffs, "It slipped out when we were drinking one night," She clarifies, "It was after you married Negan. He got drunk and got a little loose lipped." I stand there, waiting for more information. "He laughed it off and I was laughing, because I was drunk, and I joked that you were a slut. He got mad and told me not to call you that, then he said he had to go. He really liked you."

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do." She bitterly snickers.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, puzzled.

Laura looks me over. "I have to go."

"Laura-"

"We're not friends, Nan," She bluntly tells me, "So, stop and leave me alone."

"What did I ever do to you?" I earnestly inquire from her.

She glances away. "Just leave me alone, Nan."

 **...**

The door creaks open after a very brief, polite knock. I don't glance over my shoulder as I hang dry my clothes on a temporary line I've put up. I know its Negan, probably coming by to see if I'm going to dine with him this evening. The way his footsteps leisurely sound behind me, confirms it him.

"Did some laundry?" He huskily asks.

"Mhm." I take the clothespin from my mouth and clip it onto my pale pink shirt that won't fit me again until after I have the baby.

"Dani really helped you out with the pants thing, huh?"

"Yeah." I move to the next space on the line, taking up another article of clothing.

"Those pants you're wearing?" Negan comes up, "They're his?"

I fix my gaze over to him. "Yes."

"Isn't it a bit creepy to be wearing a dead guy's clothes?"

"I thought they would fit better than mine."

Negan chuckles. "How was work?"

"Boring, because you shortened my list."

"You wanted to work with the workers."

"I didn't..." I shake my head, pinning up my sleeping shorts, "What brings you by?"

"Oh, I was in the neighborhood," He jokes, flicking the line, "Thought I'd see if you were enjoying your butter, cheese, and noodles."

"I haven't made it yet."

"We're having Shepherd's pie."

"Sounds good."

Negan twirls some random strand of my hair. "So, come up with me."

I return my eyes to his. "No, thank you."

"Come on, sweetheart," He breathes out, loosening his grip on Lucille's handle, "I'm not expecting anything in return."

"Maybe not, but I know you;" I softly claim, "Me being there will serve some purpose for you, even if it doesn't lead to something else."

Negan scoffs, "And what sort of fuckin' satisfaction do you think I'll get out of you shoveling food into your fucking gob?"

"Just that," I tell him, "Satisfaction."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

I sigh, feeling a feeling of exhaustion in shoulders. "Nothing."

"No, no," He sits down in the brown armchair, "If you've got something to say then grow a fuckin' pair and tell me." Lucille rests across his lap.

I get a little irked as I picture that barbed wire poking to the soft leather of Dwight's chair. The chair where I've straddled him and where I've given him oral sex. Where I felt like I was some precious clay that he delicately took in his hands by the hips as he looked up at me with human eyes. The chair he bent me over; a night that I believed I owed my current state to.

"Could you please not put her there?"

"Pardon?"

"Lucille; her wire's going to ruin the chair," I put my hand out, "I've got an umbrella holder by the door. I could-"

"She's a lady, Nan," Negan reminds me with a fierce composure, "And she deserves to be treated as such. Not like some dirty bitch, you want me to toss in a fuckin' umbrella holder."

I rest my hand on my bump, not as a tactic, but simply because my hands have naturally found themselves there when they need someplace to sit. Pregnancy makes for a good hand shelf. Nevertheless, I see his eyes momentarily trail down.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, honest, "I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't offend me, you offended Lucille."

I brush my thumb across my belly, trying not to lose my patience. "Well, even so, I'm sorry." Negan stares with a low smile. "It's just that Dwight sat in that chair a lot."

Negan exhales, glancing off to the side. "It's just a fuckin' chair, Nan."

"Is Lucille just a baseball bat?" I brazenly say, making him look at me again.

He rolls her by the handle in thought. Then, he abruptly rises, which instinctively makes me jump a little. "Are you coming?"

I step aside for him to stride past me, perplexed. "N-no."

"We both know you don't have butter for your lonely woman dish," Negan chuckles as he makes it to my door, "I saw what was in your fridge."

"I'll go get some."

"I don't know what the hell it is you think I'm getting out of this, but I'm just trying to be nice here, honey," Negan leans Lucille on his shoulder, "I liked seeing you stuff your face. It was kind of cute, like when an anaconda unhinges it's fuckin' jaw." I roll my eyes, as he chuckles. "And it made me feel good."

I knit my brows. "Why?"

"Because I was able provide that for you," He says without hesitation, or struggle, "I told you was I gonna make damn sure you and the baby would be fine, no matter what. And making damn sure you have enough to eat makes me feel like I'm doing a fine ass job of it."

I gaze at him. "That's not your responsibility."

"Sure as fuck is," Negan proclaims, taking a long stride up to me, "That's what I do; I help people. Keep 'em alive. That's what I call satisfaction."

"Do you allot privileges to all people the same way you do for me?" I cross my arms.

"That pregnant worker doesn't have to pay for food anymore."

I twist my mouth to the side. "I know."

"Come to dinner." He leans towards me.

I consider it for a second. "Okay."

* * *

 **Thank you all for reading!**

 **CLTex: Oh, Nan's certainly not done with Laura and all shall eventually be revealed to her one way or the other (I mean, she has to eventually find out, right?) Whether or not it comes from Laura or another source is a mystery for now. Yeah, but it would definitely be a bad deal if Negan found out...that could potentially put Nan in danger, or under a heavy ultimatum.**

 **Mamabear20162017: Lol my bad! Well, Laura for sure has it weighing on her and I think she truly knows that she doesn't have any real reason to be mad at Nan for something she had nothing to do with. But with Dwight not there to be angry at and the pressure to be a loyal Savior, while also realizing the danger that she could put Nan in if she did rat Dwight out is kind of making her act out against the next best thing, which is unfortunately Nan.**

 **StTudnoBright: Haha, it was pretty funny that she threw up on Simon! Sort of perfect timing, considering she was trying to keep him away from Marisol. And yeah, Negan's definitely circling her like wounded prey.**


	47. I Don't Know

_"How long is it gonna rain?"_

 _"I don't know," I reply, soaking wet, "How would I? I can't control the weather."_

 _"Sure you can," Charlie sighs, "More than you know."_

 _I glance up at the tree-blocked sky. "I don't know why it's raining. I haven't cried in a long time. I feel fine."_

 _"You are?" He scoffs, humored. "Why's it raining then?"_

 _"I said I don't know," I mildly snap, "I...I feel fine."_

 _"Well, you aren't out of the woods yet."_

 _"How do I find my way out?"_

 _Charlie looks over at me with a warm smirk. "Lucter et Emergo."_

 _A whistle from some unknown direction bounces off the trees. Like usual, a bird makes itself known to the whistler._

 _I still look around, despite knowing that I won't see who's there. "I think I've had plenty of struggle, Charles. When do I get to emerge?"_

 _"Whenever you want."_

 _"Then why haven't I?"_

 _"Because you haven't," He moves the wet hair from his forehead, "Simple as that, mama bird."_

 **...**

"I am so glad you're finally letting me do this," Danica gently glides her comb through my freshly sink-washed tangles, "I can't tell you how much I've wanted to get my hands on your hair."

"Is it that bad?" I ask, sitting erect in the chair I dragged to the middle of the room.

She measures my hair with her trained eyes as she brings the comb down towards the ends. "You've got about four inches of split ends."

"Oh, wow," I wince, "That's bad, huh?"

"Yeah, that's pretty bad," She laughs, "What do you comb your hair with? A fork?"

"I have a comb," I claim, looking towards my trunk.

"You should put some spray some sweet almond oil in your hair," She tells me, "I've got some upstairs you can use."

"Okay." I answer blandly.

I'm just sort of indulging her. I don't think honestly think I'll remember to routinely spray sweet almond oil in my hair. I've been sort of forgetful, or spacey lately. Another two weeks have gone by and it's been rather overwhelming. I feel like I'm constantly on the verge of crying whenever I've forgotten to do something. I swear I was near a meltdown just yesterday when I realized I was halfway to Reed's office with no shoes on.

I don't know what joy Danica gets out of cutting my hair, but she's been nudging me to let her get her shears out. I guess I am overdue for a haircut anyway. It's funny; some things never change. I use to go months without getting me hair cut, despite my hair stylist reminding me I needed to come in every eight weeks.

Charlie always use to say I looked like a beatnik because of the way my hair always looked slept in, mostly because it was. I've always been a simple, no fuss sort of girl who managed to do my makeup in five to ten minutes before I had to be somewhere. He always said I looked beautiful no matter what. I had another dream about him. The one that I've been having over and over again.

"So," Danica interrupts my thoughts, "Do we want anything different, new...or just a simple trim?"

I smile, "Do you want to me to choose the former?"

"It's up to you," She shrugs, "But..."

"But?"

Danica sighs. "I only ever cut the girls' hair...and Negan's."

"You miss cutting other people's hair?" I inquire, a little bewildered.

"Well, yes, but I miss styling," She reveals, "The girls never want anything other than their usual and I'm happy just to do a quick trim for Negan. I miss getting to change people's lives."

A chuckle, perhaps a carelessly rude chuckle, slips out under my breath. "How did you change people's lives?" I see immediately that I've made her feel silly by the way she glances down, embarrassed. "Sorry, I...I didn't mean to sound that way."

"It's okay." She smiles mildly.

I clear my throat. "Um, how did you change people's lives?" This time I ask more seriously.

She walks around out of my sight. "I heard once that when a woman cuts her hair, she's about to change to her life," She delicately combs my hair, snipping the ends off, "It was when I was kind of down on my luck and thought about giving up cutting hair and going to work for the post office like my mom. I know it sounds stupid, but it really made me feel like I was doing something good for people, you know?"

"Yeah."

"It felt good see the looks on people's face when they'd have a hairstyle that made them feel like a whole new person...or maybe the same person, but just..."

"Confident?"

"Ready." I can hear the smile in her voice, "Like they were ready to face anything, or anyone. Kind of funny how little things can make such a difference."

"Yeah," I murmur.

"So just a trim, then?"

"I guess so."

"Alright," She continues to trim my split ends, "Negan told me not to butcher your hair anyway."

"What?"

"Oh, it was just some passing asshole comment he made when he found out I was coming here to cut your hair," Danica exhales, "You know how he likes to say shit like that."

I nod my head. "How about short?"

"Hm?"

"How about you cut it shorter?" I repeat.

"Uh, okay," She agrees, "How short you want it?"

"Um..." I think for a minute, "How about a little off the shoulders?"

"Okay," Dani's voice perks up again, "Sounds good."

"And... and bangs."

"Bangs?"

"I mean, unless you think it'd look bad."

"No, bangs would be a solid look for you."

"Okay." I smile with an odd anxiety in me as I feel and hear scissors sever hair from my head.

 **...**

Danica stands in front of me with the hand mirror lowered and facing the opposite way. I remain sitting in the chair, nervous that I made another mistake instead of a "change" in my life. Her eyes stare at me, or more specifically my hair with an unreadable expression that doesn't appear bad, but she's not smiling either.

"Well?"

She bites the corner of her lip, before her mouth tips upward ever so slightly.

"Is it bad?" I touch my hair.

"No," Danica shakes her head, "No, you look great, it's just...you look so different."

"Different?"

"Yeah," She hands me the mirror, "I thought the bangs would make you look sweet, but you look so...I don't know, tough."

Tough? I blink my eyes away from her and hold the mirror up. I do look different. I don't look sweet at all; I don't know if I'd say tough necessarily, but I don't look like the insignificant, weak girl that everyone thinks I am. I look like an adult, despite the fac5 that I already am one; twenty-seven years old and pregnant.

"Do you like it?"

"I...I do."

"I'm glad," Danica smiles at me, "It looks good, Nan. Trust me."

I shyly smile back. "Thanks."

"Just remember you should get it touched up every eight weeks."

"Yeah, okay."

She begins to sweep the locks of hair that fell to the floor. "You coming to dinner?"

"Um, I don't think so."

"We're having chicken pot pie and cornbread."

"Oh, that sounds delicious," I brush some hairs off my clothes, "But I think I'm gonna pass."

"Negan's probably gonna miss dinner," She informs me, "He's been spending a lot of time down in the meeting room, trying to figure out where those people are hiding."

"The Alexandrians?"

"Yeah, they haven't shown up, or made a peep since...well, you know."

"Yeah," I hold my hands anxiously, "So, he's been skipping dinner?"

"Mhm," She nods, "He's been eating in his room most nights."

"Oh, well, I guess I could come."

 **...**

The girls are much more lively when Negan's not around. They talk freely and laugh more, instead of giving a plain two cents here and there among silence. I almost feel just as relaxed as they are.

"I love your hair!" Hazel gushes.

"Thank you."

"It's really nice," Tonya smiles at me, then Danica, "You did a good job."

"You act surprised." She laughs, which makes some of them laugh, too.

"Well, you always gripe about cutting my hair."

"That's because you only ever want a trim," Dani replies, "Not like Nan; she's adventurous."

They all giggle, half out of tipsiness, and I have to myself because adventurous is not how I would describe me at all. I'm a play it safe sort of gal, who's "adventures" are usually dumb, risky behavioral patterns that my mother was unfortunately right about.

"She's certainly got more guts than any of us," Tonya cackles, "I mean, I could never even imagine talking to Negan the way you did the night you left."

"Hell, she threw a vase at him!" Hazel roars, "Now that's bold as brass!"

The four of them laugh, while Amber sips from her wine and I remember that night. Everything about it...sadly. The nerves I felt, knowing I was going to tell our big scary leader I was no longer going to be married to him with the hidden knowledge of my pregnancy. The agonizing wait, then the brazen disruption of Negan taking Frankie from behind. The silence, the thunderous doors opening, and the strides down the hall to my room. The words exchanged, the fury, the shattered vase, the thrown over trunk and mad search for my ring. The slamming door and my broken hand that still aches and gets stiff about the fingers sometimes.

The utterly humiliating trip to the doctor's so late at night; humiliating because Harlan knew that my "husband" had injured me. But my night wasn't over. I had to go find Dwight and tell him I was pregnant and that it was his. He asked me to stay with him. I mean, it didn't work out initially, but we got there. And now he's gone.

Frankie looks over to me. "So, no updates yet?"

"Only that I'm twenty-five weeks." I lightly touch my stomach. "And my back hurts a lot."

"Lower back?"

"Uh, yeah," I shift in my seat, "I think it's from the baby weight."

"Well, that and you're sleeping on a mattress with nothing but palettes underneath." Danica chimes in.

"I can recommend some exercises to help stretch out the muscles," Frankie kindly offers, "And if you want, I can try to work on it."

"Thanks, but I don't how effective a massage would be, if I can't lay down on my stomach."

"I could-"

"Don't you think you should go to the doctor's?" Tonya asks me, "I mean, to make sure the baby's okay?"

"Well, I guess so."

"I think it'll put your mind at ease, you know?"

"Um, I didn't know my mind was uneasy." I start to chuckle, but all any of them do is smile. I clear my throat. "I, uh, I've been meaning to, I just...keep forgetting."

"Is it because of Dwight?" Hazel asks.

"Hazel!" Frankie scrunches her brows at her from the other side of the table.

"No, it's...it's not because of Dwight," I answer, pushing food around my plate, "I've just been busy and I've been forgetting stuff, so..." I stop myself because I really don't have a solid excuse as to why I haven't gone to the doctor.

"Well, you should go," Tonya encourages with another smile, "I think it'll be good for you."

I'm a little confused about their interest in my doctor's appointments. I know that they kind of consider me one of them, even though I'm not anymore, and because of that, they're really excited about the baby, but it seems like they're almost pressuring me to go.

"...Did Negan put you up to this?"

"What? No!" Frankie shakes her head. "Of course not! You really think we'd doing anything Negan put us up to?"

I think for a minute. "Well, yes," I bluntly say, "I do. I do, only because you have before."

The girls all look at me surprised that I called them out so abruptly. I want to feel bad about saying it, but I'm a little irritated right now. Not at them, more at Negan for using them like he does. It's not enough to just have them around for sex, he's got to send them down to me, or to Eugene and Harlan when they first came here to sweeten up the deal of living here. Just because he's not sending to have sex with anyone, doesn't mean having them saunter about isn't despicable.

"Look, I didn't mean to be harsh," I finally say, "It's just I don't want to be pushed into going to the doctor's, or all buttered up with niceties, especially if it's putting pressure on you guys."

"We're not pressured to be nice to you, Nan," Tonya replies with an earnest look on her face, "We like you."

"Well, I-"

"Negan's mean," Amber hiccups, "Ever since he found out you were pregnant, he-."

"Amber," Frankie shakes her head again, "No."

"What?" She makes a face at Frankie. "She's not stupid, Frankie." Amber looks at me with a soft, but bitter look in her eyes. "He's been just flat out mean. He said we don't contribute anything to society, accept keeping him happy, which we can't seem to do lately."

"Don't," Tonya warns her more firmly than Frankie had, "Think about the consequences."

She lowers her eyes and lifts her glass to her mouth. "Negan said you were the only one who hadn't disappointed him," She chuckles derisively, but I can hear the crack in her voice, "You leave him for Dwight, carrying _his_ baby, and he still provides for you're the reason the sun comes up every goddamn morning. Do you know how much I had to make up for cheating on him with someone I actually love?"

"Amber!"

"I'm going!" She gets up from her chair; "I'm going to _my_ room, before I have to-"

"Get out!" Frankie shouts at her, which makes her baby face start to tear up.

Okay, so maybe things aren't as peaceful when Negan's not around. There's an air of silence at the table and I feel like I'm gonna puke. In fact, I am gonna puke. I abruptly scoot my chair back.

"Oh, no, Nan, please don't leave," Frankie insists, "Amber's drunk and doesn't know what she's saying."

"I have to go, I have to-" I cover my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Oh, I think she's gonna hurl." Hazel says.

I hurry to the bathroom and shut the door behind me, before storming over to the toilet. God, I thought I was past this. I empty my stomach into the bowl. After flushing the toilet, I go to the sink to rinse the taste from my mouth. It's about that time that I hear the door to the top floor close and heavy, determined footsteps oming this way. I stand still and listen.

"Hi," Tonya says from the dining room, "You want me to fix you a plate and bring it to your room?"

"No, I'm eating here," He tersely answers and I hear a chair scoot back, "What the fuck is with all pie dishes?"

"They have to work with what they've got."

"It was rhetorical fucking question, Hazel," Negan sharply replies, "I don't need a fucking inventory reminder from you."

"Sor-ry."

"Is everything okay?" Danica asks him.

"I've got three hostile communities up my ass, two of which can't be fuckin' found and my outposts are missing all the fucking ammunition, which means they've got our big guns, so yeah, my balls are in a motherfucking vice grip at the moment, but I've never been fucking better. Thanks for fuckin' asking."

"I could give you massage after dinner." Frankie politely suggests.

"No, I don't want a massage," He retorts, rather surprisingly, "What I want is to be left alone for the night, starting now."

What a complete ass. I hear the collection of chairs screech against the floor, followed by the clacking of heels as they exit the dining room. I think I should take my leave as well. I walk over to the door of the bathroom to get the hell off the floor as stealthily as I can.

"Wait a minute," Negan chews, "Why's Nan's place got a half a plate?"

Danica begins to explain. "Um, well-"

"Was she here?"

Damn it! I quickly open the door and stalk out down the hallway. I don't want to talk to him, let alone look at him after all that. I get down to the stairwell and onto the next floor, treading through this hall as fast as the first. I start to feel a little woozy, but I breathe through it. The door to the stairwell behind me opens and closes, but I'm already to next set of stairs.

I get all the way down to the second floor and to my room without hearing him call after me. I was so ahead of him that I no longer heard the stairs opening behind me. I shut my door and continue to breathe to stop myself from vomiting. I don't turn on the lights. I just quietly undress in the dark, then climb into bed.

He knocks on my door after finally catching up, but I don't respond and for once, he doesn't knock again, or open the door.

 **...**

"Here you are." Hal hands me a cup of black tea. "Tea for my new friend."

"I don't look that different, Hal."

"I'm sorry have we met before?" He jokes, "'Cause you look like my friend, Nan, but she's not as lovely looking as you." He makes me laugh, which only encourages him. "She's got a nice personality though."

I cackle. "No, she really doesn't."

Hal snickers. "Want some sugar, or honey?"

"Maybe some honey, thanks."

"I thought you liked sugar?"

"I do, but I'm gonna stick with the honey for now," I smile, "I keep wandering over to the baking station."

He chuckles. "Cravings?"

"I guess so."

Hal sits down with his cup and plate. "So, it was awful, then?"

"Yeah," I nod my head, "He was such an asshole and they were totally on eggshells."

"You're surprised?" He lifts a brow. "This is Negan we're talking about."

"Yeah, but he wasn't ever really short like that when I was..." I sigh, "Let's not talk about it anymore."

"Alright."

'Where's Laura?"

"Probably in her room. Why?"

"I just thought she'd be here this morning."

"We don't live together," He tells me, looking down into his food.

"I know," I say, "She's just here a lot is all."

"Well, not this morning."

"Is everything okay with you two?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

"She's been pretty, um, tense lately."

"Why?"

Hal shrugs. "Don't know, she won't say. I asked her once and she said she was fine. Asked twice; said she fine. We..." He looks up at me, "Never mind."

"What?" I furrow my brows. "Spit it out, we're adults."

"Yeah, but I don't know if she'd appreciate me talking about it."

"So, tell me the bare minimum," I lightly plead, "Oh, come on, you know my sexual business."

"Yeah and I wish I didn't."

"Hal."

He sighs, "Alright. We were...together and she asked me to stop in between."

"Oh," I nod, unsure of what to say other than that.

"She said she wasn't feeling it, so I did and I asked her again what was wrong. Why was she so out of it lately? She snapped at me and said that she didn't want me to ask that anymore. That she was 'fine' and she meant it. She's like you."

I scoff. "If she were me, she would've..." I hold my tongue before I give my dear friend a mental image of me going down on Dwight in his armchair, after I got off of him. "She would've told you what was wrong. You're easy to talk to."

"Maybe she's got...you know, post traumatic stress, or something?"

"Post traumatic stress?"

"Yeah," He nods his head, "When I was in the British army, I saw loads of people affected. She was the only one that survived that night."

"I guess that could be," I slightly agree, "She has been different since she got back." I chuckle into my tea. "She came to my room that night and shoved me against the door."

"She did what?" Hal stares at me in shock. I suddenly feel like I'm tattling.

"Uh, yeah, she wanted to know if I 'knew.'"

"Knew what?"

"I don't know, she didn't say," I sip from my cup, "Then I pushed her away from me and she slapped me. And then she had the nerve to tell me to stay-"

"She hit you?"

"Yeah," I meekly say, "But it's no big deal, Hal. I pushed her, she reacted."

Hal shakes his head. "Oh, Nan, I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I want to help her, if I can, but I can't if she doesn't want my help," He confesses to me, "And I can't condone her behavior."

"Oh, Hal, take a look around! Everyone's volatile here. It's the second motto, behind 'I'm Negan'."

"Attacking you isn't okay," He adamantly claims, "Not just because you're pregnant, but because you didn't deserve it."

"Hal, don't make any hasty decisions," I stand up from my chair, "I don't want to come between you and her, just because her and I had a falling out. She'll get past whatever's bothering her and she'll come around."

He looks sort of ashamed. "I really care about her, Nan."

I smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Hal tells me as a small smile tips on his face, "She's...a lot more than I expected."

"So, don't give up on her just yet."

"Okay," He sighs, "If you insist."

I chuckle. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

 **...**

Later on, I work my usual through the factory. I get a lot of head-turning attention because of my new haircut, but I can't honestly say if it's a good reception, or a bad one and I can't honestly say that care either way. I don't care about being liked anymore and that only increases as the days go by and snide whispers become less inaudible. I just want to do my job and live my life. Same as I did before all the shit I've been through the past few months.

But that does mean I regret it? Everything I've been through the past few months? I'll admit my life has gotten easier on one hand, but more complicated on the other. Easier, because I don't have to work for points anymore, or be treated like I earn points, but complicated because of how I came to be where I am now. I think that despite wanting to yell that I didn't do any favors to bolster myself up in this factory, the knowledge of why I got bolstered up stops me. He didn't think I was Savior material, he just thought I was pretty. He made a game out of my life.

Why did he do that? As far as I know, he never did that to any of the other wives. He just found out what they needed that he could exploit; sex for leisure, medicine, or the life of another spared. I guess that's just as awful a thing to do. But why did he do this to me? I was already low on points, before he doubled them; that could've been his in. Even after it looked like I wouldn't marry him, when I was with Dwight and when I first stopped him at Alexandria, he let me stay a Savior. Why did he do that? Did he know, in the back of his head, did he know that somehow, someway that I would eventually be his? How could he know that unless he schemed and planned? For me? I was just a baker who had never spoken a word to him before I had killed Ronnie. Never even met eyes with him.

I think all this to myself as I wait for Brian to dole out points and deductions to the workers in the coops and gardens. I stand in the doorway, feeling the warm sun on my face and arms, enjoying it. I feel trapped in here now that I'm not allowed outside. It's beginning to cool down a little as fall is slowly approaching us. Soon the leaves will change and then fall to the ground. And before I know it, it'll be November and the baby will be here. It's so daunting a thought to think how fast the unknown date is upon me. I don't have a damn thing for the baby. All I have is a laundry basket I plan on laying some linens down in to use a bassinet. I tried to crochet again, but I don't think I'm gonna be able to do it, which sucks, because it'll be cold in November and it doesn't take a genius to know the baby will need warm clothing.

There is another thing I've been working on, but it hardly serves as a purposeful thing. More just for decoration. A passing thought occasionally enters my brain every now and again, but I'm too sappy to do it. I've thought about turning some of Dwight's shirts into clothes for the baby. Frankie does have that sewing machine and I'm better with a needle and thread than I am with a needle and yarn. The hard part is just trying to overcome the sentimentality of those clothes. I know deep down he wouldn't mind, but part of me is still trying to pretend he's still here. Like he's just away, at the outposts, or out looking for an escapee. _Don't be a fool_.

I snap back to reality when my eye catches a glimpse of the workers and Brian getting down on one knee. It's not long until I see the only reason why they'd ever do that walking this way with Lucille in hand. I use the doorframe to steady myself as I kneel, which proves to be a pain in the ass now that I'm bigger. I keep my head down, but my hand remains on the frame for when I can get up.

The gravel and dirt beneath his boots crunches and scrapes as he approaches. His shadow precedes him. I'm met with the sight of his boots stopping in their tracks a few feet from me. _Please, just go_.

"You cut your hair."

"Yeah." Is all I think to reply.

"Look up," Negan demands, "Let's get a proper look of your new 'do."

I lift my head and meet his eyes over me. I stay quiet, waiting for some smart-ass comment and because I don't have anything to say. He's already smiling, but it lessens in a way that I wouldn't describe as bad. More like a mild, dare I say endearing smile, if he were capable of such a thing.

"What is it with women and cutting their hair short when they have kids?" He puts his hand out, "Well, whatever it is, I like it. Looks good on you."

"Thanks," I take his hand and use it with the doorframe to get up.

"You were hot before, but now..." He chuckles, "Now, you're fuckin' smokin' hot."

"Am I?" I smooth my shirt down, uninterested.

"Sure as fuck are," Negan grins, pointing Lucille at me, "I'm gonna be frank with you, I am about ten times more attracted you than I was before."

I knit my brows, glancing to the side to make sure he can't be heard, but also out of confusion. "B-because my hair's shorter?" I know I marveled at my new cut yesterday, but my god, it's just a haircut!

"It's more than the hair," He grazes his tongue along the inside of his mouth, gazing across my puzzled face and down to my belly, "You're radiant."

I keep myself from rolling my eyes. "It's just sweat and oil glands, remember?"

"Well, sweat and oil glands never looked so good."

"Um, thanks, I guess."

"And that," He makes a rounding motion with his hand, "Belly of yours is just-"

"Here." A worker interrupts to hand me the cards, quickly lowering his head, as Negan looks his way.

"Thank you." I accept the papers and then direct my eyes back to Negan. "I gotta go log these."

"I saw that you ate up top last night," He follows me, "Left before I had time to see you."

"I wasn't feeling well."

"Yeah, Tonya told me how you punished the porcelain," Negan laughs, "Still getting sick?"

"No one said pregnancy was a cakewalk."

He's humored by that. "Wait 'til you actually have the kid."

"Don't remind me." I navigate through the factory without looking at him, praying he'll cut himself loose from my trail.

"Are you gonna grace us with your presence again tonight?"

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I heard the way you were talking to the girls last night and I don't want to witness that again."

Negan stops me by the arm, turning me towards him. "Excuse me?"

By the sound of his voice, I can't tell if he's actually wondering what I said, or if he's questioning my audacity. I lightly take my arm from his hand. "I heard you berate them and I...I didn't like it."

"I didn't fuckin' berate anyone," Negan fires back, scoffing, "So, I don't know what the fuck you think you heard, but-"

"Every word out of your mouth was biting," I fold my arms, "They were trying to talk to you and you told them to get out."

Negan's eyes scan my face. "They were hovering, trying too hard to-"

"To be good wives. They were just trying to be nice to you, but you're an..." My words trail off as I realize what I was about to say in the middle of the factory, though no one's really listening.

Negan shifts his jaw to the side as his gaze sharpens a little. "An asshole? Is that what you were about to fucking say?"

My mouth's open as I try to form the words. "I, um, I-"

"Well, look at you," He smiles, "New hair, new set of balls!"

I shut my lips into a scowl. "You didn't have to be so curt with them. If you didn't want five women catering to your needs, then you shouldn't have married them."

"Catering to my needs?" He huffs into a chuckle, "Are you feelin' a little ill, right now?"

I continue to walk towards Reed's office. "Are you suggesting that they don't?"

"I'm suggesting that I do a lot more for them, than they cater back."

"They have sex with you," I bleakly rasp, "I think that's plenty. And considering that they made an effort last night, knowing that you were under stress, only to have it thrown in their faces is probably why they don't try more often."

"Trust me, they're only fuckin' trying because they want to stay in my good graces."

"Why would they being falling out of your good graces?"

"Because they aren't-"

"Sir," A Savior comes over, "We got the west outpost cleared. What do you want us to do with all that stuff you wanted brought over?"

"Put the important shit down in the storage basement. Take the items in red upstairs to the top floor," Negan instructs, "Let the ladies take care of it from there."

"Roger that." The guy stalks off.

I stop just before Reed's office. "You were saying?"

Negan's brows knit slightly. "What?"

"You said the girls were falling out of your good graces, because they aren't...?"

He gives me another look over. "What goes on between me and my wives, especially what we talk about, is none of your fuckin' business."

"But you were just about to-"

"I was just about to tell that it was none of your fucking business, Nan."

I huff, "Okay, then." I turn to open the office door and shift just right to make my back ache, causing me to sigh with the pain.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine, it's just my back," I confess, breathing deeply, "It's been aching lately."

"Probably because you look like a moon with legs," He concludes, "Dani told me you-"

"What _we_ talk about is none of _your_ business," I throw his words back at him, wincing with a little pain his way, "And if you're using them to get information about me, then I won't eat with them anymore."

 **...**

"Morning." I lightly say, entering the library.

"Good morning." Lillian replies without looking from the shelves she's organizing. "Finished reading Jane Eyre?"

"Um, no, I'm only on chapter five," I admit, "I just came in to see if I could borrow that maternity book again."

"The first time wasn't informative enough?"

"I just want to look at something real quick." I nervously go to the shelf I know it's on. It takes me a second to find it and pluck it off the shelf. "Can I sit at your desk?"

"I'm not really at liberty to say no, am I?" She dryly answers.

"If you don't want me to, I won't."

"Sit," Lillian dryly insists, "Find what you're looking for."

I have a seat and flip through the pages in search. When I find the pictures of the month-by-month stages of pregnancy, I stop. My eyes flit from image to image to try and find an answer. I look at my tummy beneath my shirt to compare answers. Next, I flip back to the little bit of sex ed in the front of the book that explains fertilization and when I'd start having symptoms.

I have to be sure. I have to have some logical sense, or proof to put my mind at ease. Ever since I had that spat with Negan yesterday, I've had the wildest thoughts flare up in my brain. The kind that only Dwight was able to alleviate all those weeks ago. I suppose this won't really do me any good, since a book isn't a DNA test, but I'm desperate.

Let's see... _"Early stage symptoms commonly start after the fertilized egg attaches itself to the wall of the uterus. This can occur anywhere from six to twelve days. "_

I think for a moment. When did I start feeling lousy and eating more? I mean, I felt pretty lousy most days in general, still do. I think that's just my personality. But my appetite increased after...damn it. I read on. Fatigue, nausea, changes in brea-

"You'll be in your third trimester soon." Lillian tells me, suddenly standing at the desk.

I glance up. "Yeah, I know."

"What is it you're looking for?"

"I...I don't know." I shut the book, agitated. I get up to return the book in a huff.

"You're not sure, are you?"

"What?"

Lillian flicks on the hot plate beneath her teakettle. "That's what happens when you're fast."

I scoff, dumbfounded that she said that. "I'm not fast, I-"

"You moved from one man to Negan, effortlessly," Her crow like eyes glint over at me as she sits, "That's certainly not what I'd called discerning."

I touch my bump. "You sound like my mom. Except my mom helped head cases, instead of being one."

Lillian stares at me without a change in expression, but I still immediately feel guilty. "She couldn't help you it would seem."

"I...I am so sorry," I rasp, "That was a horrible thing to say."

"I've heard far worse." She glances down at her clipboard. "From my own daughter, who's very upset at the moment. I didn't give her the comfort she came down her for, I guess."

"Why she is upset?"

"You aren't sure that the blonde one who got the iron got you pregnant, are you?" She asks more specifically, ignoring my question, possibly because she didn't hear it.

"I am sure." I adamantly answer.

"Then why the scavenger hunt?"

"Because I...because I was just checking something."

"You were checking the early stages. Conception and symptoms," Lillian reminds me, "And you were checking your stomach."

"Doesn't hurt to double check how far I am." I murmur.

"Go to the doctor's."

"Thanks." I scoff, "I gotta go, Lillian."

"I'm brewing hot water."

"I don't want any tea."

"You seem frazzled," She adds, "Sit."

"Lillian, I-"

"When I was eight months pregnant with her," Lillian interrupts, "Her father died in a car accident on the way to the pharmacy to pick me up another pair of aloe socks. I had holes in the pair I had and I couldn't sleep without them."

I furrow my brows. "I-I'm sorry to hear that."

"I went into labor early after I heard he had died. She was seven pounds even."

"But she was okay?"

"I was close to my date," Lillian smiles a bit, which is more than I've ever seen, "I met someone else when she was two, we married a year later. As far as she was concerned, Thomas was her father, even though she knew her real father was gone. Thomas cared for her like she was his own."

"Sounds wonderful." I say.

"It was. I couldn't have asked for a kinder man, especially when I had to go away for a few weeks. It was comforting to know she was well looked after those times I...I couldn't even look after myself."

I scratch my arm. "Maybe I could stay for some tea."

"It's a noble thing," She walks over to the kettle, "To care for a child that you know isn't yours. I loved my first husband, but I'll admit he wouldn't have done the same."

My eyes gravitate towards my belly.

"You must be quite the girl to compel that from another human being. _Two_ human beings." Steam curls from the cup she pours hot water into. "From two human beings who've done terrible things."

 **...**

The water runs down my body as I wash up in the showers. I try to shower expediently, so I can leave as soon as possible. The more my pregnancy grows, the more glances I get from the other Savior women who come in to shower after work. While I perfectly understand where I stand with the workers, whether or not the opinion of me is good or bad with the Saviors can be somewhat confusing. Either they fall in with the general analysis that I'm a social climbing whore, or...I don't know what else is out there that concerns me. I get a mix from the Saviors. They either don't like me, or they think nothing of me, which makes them fairly decent to me, depending on who it is.

A few ladies have nonchalantly starting talking to me on different occasions while in a close stall; telling me about when they were pregnant, or how they're child would only go to sleep if they were rocked a certain way. I usually reply with a plain smile, or a thank you if they momentarily offer some advice to a first time mother. It's always a short-lived conversation. They brought up a tender subject and soon turn their heads away and continue bathing, while trying to act like it's not still raw a wound as they stare at the tiled walls. There are no kids here. Maybe there was some time ago, but I've never seen any, except when Carl was here. I occasionally get a reminder of how difficult it'll be to be a single parent, especially in a world as dangerous as this one.

The water shuts off and I'm glad. I thought the warm water would melt the aches away in my back, but I think I'd need to be submerged in order to get the effect I was looking for. After I towel off, I leave the showers with soaking wet hair as I head for my room. As I round the corner, approaching the room, I slow down when I see him standing right out in the hall, facing my door. A light from the window from inside the room illuminates the front half of him, which means it's open.

I stalk over. "What's going on?"

He glances my way and a smile forms. "You're just in time."

"In time for what?" I come up on the entrance, angrily and curiously peering in.

Keller and another Savior who does sanitation duty appear to be just finishing up assembling a wooden bed. Neither man seems to notice me as they screw the sides together with hand screwdrivers.

"What's this?"

"What the fuck does it look like?" Negan answers, "It's a bed frame and box spring for your mattress."

"I didn't ask for these." I tell him, still watching the men as they place the box spring in before the mattress.

"I know you didn't," He replies, sweeping my wet hair over my shoulder, "But look at that, I extrapolated and fixed your problem for you."

"I-" I bite my tongue as Keller and the other guy look over.

"Everything's all set." Keller reports, "You want us to put the bedding on?"

"No, I can manage," I blurt out, before Negan has time to answer, "Thank you."

Keller nods. "Nice seeing you." Both men leave.

I walk in, staring at the bed. It's just a simple wood bed frame that's faded with lacquer once gave it the appearance of being clean and shiny. The room has always been small, but the bed takes up more space and it's facing forward, against the wall I face when I go to sleep. I put my hand on the smooth end.

"This should take care of your back problems."

"I don't know what to say." I scoop the whole of my bed linens up in two arms.

"How about 'thank you'?" He chuckles.

"Why is it facing this way?" I murmur, as I make my bed.

"So, the headboard would be up against the wall."

"But D- I had the mattress facing this way." I move my hands to indicate how it was.

"Yeah..." Negan says, nodding, "That was before you had an actual bed. Now that you've got one, it can face the right way."

"What was wrong with how it was?"

"The headboard has to be up against a wall."

"Who said?"

Negan furrows his brows and I don't know if I'm pissing him off, or perplexing him. "That's just how it fuckin' is."

"Well, I'd like it to be the way I had it before."

"That'll look stupid."

"So?" I tuck the white floral quilt under.

"Before all this," Negan looks at me, "You had a...house, or apartment, or some shit, yeah?"

"Yes."

"And you had a bedroom?"

I raise my bewildered eyebrow. "Yes."

"And was the headboard against a fucking wall?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"But nothing," Negan laughs, "That's just how it is, so quit your bitchin'."

"It's my room." I sit down on the side of the bed, sullenly noticing how much distance the bed creates between the floor and me. "I need the bed to be the way it was before."

Negan scoffs in disbelief at my ingratitude. "Then get the fuck up."

"What?" I look over at him.

Frustrated, he irritably motions his hand upward. "Get the fuck off the bed, so I can turn it."

I rise up, a little confounded. "Can you do it on your own?"

"Certainly not asking you for help," He hands me Lucille, "Pain in my ass."

I hold Lucille in one hand as I observe Negan's drag the bed forward a little. He then goes to one corner of the end and grunts as he hulls the presumably heavy frame to turn. He steps over to the head and brings it out as well to even things out. The bed makes a blunt dragging sound as it moves. Once it's all straight and in position, Negan pushes the bed, until the left side is against the wall.

His shoulders move in sync with his quiet, heaving breath. He turns and I clasp my hands to Lucille's handle. His eyes give me the up and down.

"I can see your tits through your shirt."

I look down and hold an arm against my chest after realizing my wet hair dripped down the front of my shirt. "You can leave now."

"You don't wanna break in the new bed?" He smirks until his dimples show.

"The mattress has already been broken in." I reply, turning so I can get the flannel I have hanging over the armchair.

"Oh!" He throatily chuckles. "Damn, quick wit, darlin'."

"Goodnight."

"No, thank you?" He puts his hands up. "I turned your bed the wrong fucking way, so you'd quit with the fuckin' crybaby bullshit."

I sit on the bed, delicately touching the quilt again. "I can lay the baby there when it outgrows the laundry basket without worrying about it falling out of bed." I turn to see him. "Thank you."

Negan stares at me with a peculiar look in his eyes. "Dinner's in an hour," He tells me, "How about you come on up as thanks for the bed?"

"No, thank you." I wrap the flannel shirt around me.

"This is about yesterday, right? And the night before?"

I glance up at him. "I don't appreciate you using the wives to get information about me."

"I'm not using them to extract fuck all from you," He protests, "You tell them things, they tell me. I didn't ask, or demand to know shit."

"Why would they tell you anything I said freely?"

"Because they're gossips," Negan laughs, before sighing when I don't laugh back, "Because they're worried about you."

"They don't need to worry," I huff, staring down at Lucille's handle, "I'm doing better than I was before. I'm...getting through things."

"Yeah, I can see that," He surprisingly acknowledges, "But they like you and won't shut the hell about how your back's aching, or how you need the best nutrition, blah, blah, blah."

"Really?"

Negan comes over to the bed and groans as he sits down beside me. "Yep, every fucking night at the table, they ask for word about you."

I suppose it's not a total shock to hear. I hand Lucille over to him. "They're really excited about the baby, huh?"

"Yeah," He accepts his bat, "They are."

I tilt my head to see him. "Why are you being so mean to them?"

"They're being dramatic."

"You know..." I hesitate for a moment, "You just say whatever's on your mind and you don't really ever think about how it affects people."

"Don't fuckin' care, either." He retorts with a grin.

I blandly frown. "Well, you should sometimes. They're your wives." Negan's smile fades.

He inhales and exhales through his nose. "When I was stuck in that office with Gabe, I was thinking about some things."

"What things?"

"About how the dead could've broken through at any fucking moment and I'd be dead. Buffeted on by those nasty assholes." He peers over briefly to smirk.

"I guess that'd be hard to forget."

He chuckles softly, turning his head forward. "Yeah."

I hold my hands together in my lap. Negan sighs again, like I've twisted his arm, or something.

"I did think about how I may have treated you before."

"Oh?"

"I did kind of treat you like hot garbage when we were married, didn't I?"

I shrug. "You weren't nice."

Negan scoffs, "Shit, go ahead and bust my balls, while you have the chance. I didn't trust you; I accused you of lying and screwing around on me. I worked you over until you were upset and I thought it was funny. I bro- I was an asshole."

"You're always an asshole." I retort without thinking. I look over at him, uneasy, about the same time his head turns my way.

He smiles and cackles in his throat. "Yeah, well, if I wasn't then I'd be dead."

"And if you weren't, then all those people wouldn't want you dead."

"Well, that's because they got it in their heads that they don't me. I'll get that all fuckin' cleared up soon enough."

"You found Rick's people?"

"No, not yet, but it's only a matter of time before they crawl out of whatever hole they're hiding in and when they do, I'll be ready to crack some skulls and get shit back in order."

My hand rests on my stomach, anxious.

Negan nudges my elbow. "I thought you'd be glad to hear that."

I puzzle my brows. "Why would I be glad? Because of Dwight?"

"I'd put my money down on Daryl being the one who did it."

Daryl? I forgot about him. I look at the floor. "Laura said they were ambushed. She didn't see who was shooting."

"Well, I think we should be grateful then for that."

"Why?"

"Because if Daryl did get his hands on D, I can't imagine it'd be pretty."

His words send dark thoughts to my head, making my face hang with concern, even if Dwight's already dead and likely didn't suffer. I hope.

"Daryl's a savage animal," Negan adds, "Same as the rest of those fuckin' people."

"They-"

"We still don't know what happened to that little girl that was at the west outpost."

I glance to him and am met with his gaze. "Did you know there was a baby there?"

"No, I didn't."

"...I don't think they would hurt her."

"Why because you know them so fuckin' well? Because you like Carl?"

"No, because she's a baby," I say, feeling a little sick, "What kind of people would hurt a baby, just because it was on the wrong side? They have children."

"Yeah, well, this world lets people do ugly fuckin' shit," Negan curtly informs me, "That's why I'm necessary. To make sure that kind of shit doesn't have to happen."

"You kill people."

"When I have to and I don't lose an ounce of fuckin' sleep in those circumstances, because it's necessary to keep everything and everyone working together."

I breathe through my nose. Would they have killed a baby? "You didn't kill Gabriel after he helped them. He wasn't planning on being locked in that office with you. He wanted you dead just like everyone else."

"Wrong," Negan huffs, "Gabriel wants to save my soul, or some shit.'" He laughs from his stomach. "And I like him, so he's staying alive for now. If that gut of his doesn't kill him."

"Why do you like him?"

"Because I do." He simply claims, as his smile dwindles again.

I think I've had enough of this strange conversation. I'm exhausted and his rare candor is making me uneasy. "So, you'll be kinder to the wives from now on?"

His brows gather and his eyes scan my face when he looks at me. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I don't think they deserve to be treated badly," I reply, "If you can admit that you weren't good to me, then why is it so hard to come clean about the others?"

"It's different."

"Because I'm pregnant?" I scoff, averting my eyes incredulously. "That shouldn't matter."

"Because you _got_ pregnant." Negan clarifies.

I'm surprised my eyebrow muscles aren't toned by how much I've been knitting them in confusion. "I-It was an accident."

"Yeah, but it means you weren't taking measures to stop it from happening."

"Well, there's no..." I lift my eyes up to the side of his face intently, "You mean the morning after pill?"

"Or stopping me three quarters of the way to make sure I don't finish too close to the red zone."

My cheeks redden at that open admission, despite it being in Negan's nature to not hold his tongue. "I...I just trusted you."

"Trusted me?"

"To pull out."

"You know that-"

"I know it isn't always effective," I cut him off, "I didn't get pregnant on purpose." I think for a minute. "Are you mad at them because they've been preventing pregnancy?"

"No, that's their choice and I don't care enough to poke my fuckin' nose into it."

"Then why are you bringing this up?"

"Would having my child really be that fuckin' horrible?" He glances at me for an answer, since I'd know more than anyone. Or maybe it's a direct question.

I wipe my sweaty palms down my pants. "You want them to?"

"No," He shakes his head, "I don't them to, but if it happened, would the world fuckin' end?"

I grow more nervous. "No."

Negan slowly twirls Lucille on the floor as he stares at me. "When I was stuck in that office, I thought about how I needed to get the fuck out and live. You kept poppin' up into my head."

"Me?"

"Yep," He confirms, "I knew my people were gonna die, if I wasn't there to stop it."

"...And you thought of me?"

"You and the baby," His dark hazel eyes find mine, "All this shit could put you in a lot of fuckin' danger. In the office, I thought about that and, well, I had some time to think about the night you left. You were right; I wasn't good to you."

"That wasn't why I left you."

"You made it clear when I broke your hand." Negan replies and it's honestly the first time I've ever heard him take direct responsibility. " _I_ broke _your_ hand. _"_ That's what he said. " _I broke your hand_." "It was degrading to my wife."

"I left because I was pregnant with someone else's child, "I relay, as if it'll bring some peace of mind.

Negan's tongue stabs the inside of his cheek, before he sighs heavily, hanging his head in exhaustion. "You know, Nan, if I'm leveling with you, it's only fuckin' fair you return the damn favor. Be honest."

"I am being-"

"Nan." He sternly glowers at me. "I talked to Dr. Carson. He said there's a slim fucking chance you're two weeks over twenty-five weeks."

"You're asking the doctor about me?" I accusatively ask.

"You're a topic of interest," Negan hauntingly smirks, "And you're twenty-five weeks. No more, no less."

"I know that."

"You do?" His brows rise into his forehead. "Then why the-"

"Because Dwight and I had sex two days before I married you," I answer before he can finish asking, "That's why I won't say it's yours."

Negan's eyebrows relax and his eyes soften with whatever thought he's come to in his head. "Because you aren't sure?"

"I...I-"

"You don't know, do you?"

"I..."

"You don't know, you never did; you just lied because you didn't want to be with me, which as you just heard, I can understand."

I lick my dry lips, trying to for a sentence, instead of sputtering out some incoherent babble.

"Dwight was probably just doing what he thought was the right thing, right?" He proceeds to talk. "Well, go on; speak."

"I've been trying to fig-"

"You don't know who the father is," He reasserts, "Just admit it."

"I…," I can feel tears boiling up from being worn down. "I don't know."

"No, you don't."

"I use to think I knew, but I don't know if I'm so sure now." I wipe a tear from off my cheek.

"Stop crying."

I scoff, "I'm not crying."

"You are crying," Negan argues with some humor in his tone, "So stop it."

"I'm afraid."

"Well, you don't have to be," He stands up from the bed and faces me, "You don't have to be afraid and you don't have to cry, because I am going to take care of you." I open my mouth to protest, but he anticipates it. "There's no weakness in asking for help when you need it, sweetheart, only in being too fuckin' stubborn to ask, or accept it."

I fold my hands into my lap. "I'll consider it."

His toothy grin spreads. "Good girl."

"Thank you for the bed," I force myself to say, "And for turning it for me."

"You are most welcome, mama bird."

"What?"

"I said; you're welcome, mama bear," Negan repeats more clearly, "What the fuck did you think I said?"

I glance down, shaking my head. "Nothing."

"You gonna come to up with me for dinner?"

"Um, maybe in the morning," I make a polite smile, "I'm kind of tired. I think I'm just gonna make some oatmeal and go to bed."

"Alright, well, I want to see you tomorrow morning."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Nan."

"I'll, uh, I'll come for breakfast."

"Good, I'm gonna hold you fuckin' to that."

I nod. "Okay."

His eyes take in my image.

"What?"

"Your sweat and oil glands," He chuckles, walking for the door, "You look beautiful."

I hold on to that plain, flat smile, until he makes his exit. I then smooth out the blanket for no reason, before I lay down and face the side of the wall. I curl myself up as much as I can, breathing normally, so no tears can be pushed up. I stare at the mute green wall with a determination to be indifferent. To not feel all that I have welling up in me. What have I done?

…

"What are you carving?"

"I don't know. I haven't decided yet."

"It looks like an animal."

"Yeah…"

"How long have you been working on it?"

"Not long. It's for my kid."

An empty can is gruffly kicked as a man walks by.

"Bullshit. Ya ain't got no kid."

"No, but I will."

The man huffs in response.

"That's why I'm here, asshole, and why I want Negan dead. For her."

"It's a girl?"

"What? Oh, I don't know."

"You said 'her.' Who were you referring to?"

"My...girlfriend." A hand reaches into the pocket of a flannel shirt. "She's pregnant."

"A hair tie?"

"I found it in this pocket. She must have put it in there when she wore it, or something."

"...What's her name?"

"Nan."

The rough man turns his head, looking at the scarred man from over his shoulder.

"That girl?"

"The one who fed you when she thought no one was looking? Yeah, her."

The other man looks at the round wall of the tunnel, before stalking off a few feet away and sitting down.

"Do you think she'll be hurt when this...Negan finds out that you betrayed him?"

A knife glides against wood, shaving pieces off into curls.

"I don't know. Negan doesn't always hurt people how you'd think."

"...How would he hurt her?"

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading! Next week will be an FYIWAF update.**

 **CLTex: Yeah, Nan is thinking about herself and baby which means begrudgingly accepting help from the one person who can give the utmost over anyone else lol.**

 **urmessismine: Thank you! I sometimes think I get too into detail just because I'm a detail-oriented freak in general, but I appreciate your comment! Glad you liked the chapter.**

 **StTudnoBright: I think the wives, at least on the show since there's not much character depth in the comics, just seem like laidback, nice ladies (when they aren't trying to poison their husband lol) so I felt that they should be really kind and almost sisterly to Nan. And yes, Negan is so not subtle with his hints!**


	48. Finally Coming Around

September's just around the corner, which means that it should be cooling down some time soon, although I haven't seen any sign of the weather improving just yet. I'll be entering my third trimester as well and it's bothering me more than before. This whole pregnancy is going by so fast and I can't seem to get a grip on how I'll soon be raising an infant in the room that Dwight and I shared without him. But Negan told me to put it to rest and go on, so that I could be an attentive mother, so I try not to let it show how much he still inhabits my mind.

So, I just make with my day and go on. I've been spending a lot of time between Reed's office and the library during work hours. Seeing as I don't really have to do much until around three or four, I kind of just sit and do crossword puzzles, or drink tea with Lillian. Sometimes I'll go to my room and watch T.V., but I always get distracted with my various mess of projects I've been working on. I also drag the easier projects to Reed's office, or the library if I can't figure out the answer for number ten across. Lillian keeps asking about Jane Eyre, but I keep telling her I still have it. I only read at night in bed now, because it helps me go to sleep. It's always been easy for me to nod off, especially now that I have an actual bed, but lately I've been having a little trouble.

After I've gathered the points for the day, I return to Reed's office where I find him sitting in his chair, while Laura's standing to the side with her arms crossed. A few items lay on his desk; some food and sundries. When they see me enter, Laura looks down, gliding her tongue along her teeth.

"Got everything taken care of?" Reed asks me.

"Yeah."

"Alright, good."

Laura clears her throat. "I gotta go. See ya later."

"See ya." Reed replies.

Laura swiftly glances over at me, before stalking past me out of the office. She's still pretty rigid.

"What did she want?" I inquire.

"To inform me of the expected incoming of bullets."

A low panic shoots up in me. "What?"

"Negan's gonna have her and two others get Eugene to that factory where he can get the machines he needs to manufacture bullets."

"Oh," I breathe, mildly relieved, "I thought you meant...never mind." I approach the desk. "What's all this?"

"Food, a blanket, some clothes, and some powdered chocolate mix," Reed lists the items, "You couldn't have assessed that yourself?"

"I meant, what's it for?" I grumble, tossing the logged points cards into the waste bin.

"It's for Marisol."

My eyes fix on him. "Marisol? Worker 51?"

"Yes, worker 51," He nods patronizingly, "If you don't mind, I'll have you drop it all off at her quarter on your way out."

"Uh, sure," I set my clipboards down, "What should I tell her?"

"It's from her anonymous patron."

"Oh, okay," I gather up the items as best I can, "Between you and me, who is this anonymous patron?"

Reed gets up from his chair when an apple rolls off the pile. "They wouldn't be anonymous, if people knew who they were, would they?"

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna say anything to Marisol."

He scoffs, a little humored as he places the apple on top, "Excuse me for not being so convinced of that. I see you talking to her from time to time."

"We...have something in common." I retort.

"Right."

"It isn't Simon, is it?"

"No, it's not and stop asking."

"Okay, fine." I turn to leave.

"Wait a sec," Reed calls, "Don't forget your little craft pack."

"Oh, thanks." I accept the backpack that I've been putting my project supplies in. "See ya tomorrow."

"Night."

I take the assortment of gratis over to Marisol's quarter. I don't get the whole "anonymous patron" thing. No one ever really does nice things for the workers around here. Negan occasionally offers free vegetables, or whatever, but that's just to flaunt around what a great leader he is. And now that the communities we took from are no longer compliant, the generosity has really shut off. Fresh foods and hot meals have gotten a little more pricier.

The Saviors, of course don't have to adhere to those prices, since they don't work for points, but we do have to be cut back on how much we use up. Being said, I didn't think any one who is providing for Marisol, despite all the conserving, would be so humble as to wish to remain unnamed. And why help her for that matter? Not that I'm opposed, just I don't get why this stranger is so willing to help. If it's not Negan and it's not the father, then who?

When I get to her quarter, she's folding some clothes. "Hey."

She looks over. "Hey."

"I, uh, I got some stuff from the anonymous patron." I try to figure out how to carefully set everything down.

Marisol stands up with some difficulty to take the load off. "Thanks."

"Sure." I briefly glance down at her belly. She's about a month or so behind me now, but you wouldn't be able to tell. "How are things?"

"Uh, good actually," She tucks some hair behind her ear, "I saw the doctor yesterday and he said everything looked good on the ultrasound. And I'm starting to feel some minor movement at night."

"That's-" I pause when I hear Negan's distinguishable voice above us. I scan the upper level and see him walking with Arat to what looks like the armory. "Good."

"Do you...wanna see?"

"What?"

Marisol, somewhat embarrassed, looks down at her stuff. "Do you wanna see the sonogram?"

"Oh," I nod my head, "Yeah, sure."

"Okay." She gets into a little tin where she keeps the others. She produces the newest copy like it's a precious artifact, gingerly extending to me.

I take it and admire what is clearly two little figures in the gray picture. I smile at her. "That's cool."

She meekly smiles back, not typically the smiling kind. "Dr. Carson said he thinks they might be fraternal."

"Oh?" I look at the sonogram again. "How can he tell?"

Marisol chuckles softly. "Well, he thinks one might be a boy and the other a girl." She points to one of the twins. "He said that one might have a...you know, and it's hard to see if the other does or not."

"Oh," I nod, "A boy and a girl." I smile again. "That'll be pretty interesting." I'm not really good at this sort of thing, so that just sounds weird. I know Marisol's got more stress than I do, being a worker and all, so I never know what to say.

"Yeah, I'm kind of excited." She surprisingly agrees, gazing at the picture, then up to me. "You should know what you're having by now, too, right?"

My smile wanes a bit and I hand her back the sonogram, "I haven't been by the infirmary. I've been busy."

"Oh." She nods, looking me over. "Well, has the baby-"

She cuts off when a loud sound makes the two of us look to the left. A Savior's knocked over worker 42's things and is scrounging through the mess for something. Worker 42, John, I think, just stands there watching. The Savior plucks up a jar of mustard, which instantly reminds me of all those months ago when Dwight had done the same thing after Russell was stomped to death. When he's got the item he wanted, the Savior kicks a few things just to be an ass and walks off, pocketing the mustard.

"I have to go, Marisol," I say, before turning my head back to her, "I'll see you later."

"Okay, let me know when you find out."

"Uh, yeah, okay."

As I begin to walk away, I feel eyes on me. I glance up to where I get peripheral indication of my watcher. It's Negan, standing with his gloved hand on the yellow railing and peering down at me. I meet eyes with him for a moment, unsure of why he's staring at me, but I can tell it's not one of those looks that means he wants to see me, or is gonna meet me at the top of the stairs to pester me. I fix my backpack strap and continue on my way back to our room. My eyes catch a hard look at the Savior who stole the mustard.

 **...**

After my shower, I towel off and get dressed. I know this sounds wild, but I can't wait to put my bra back on. My breasts have been so sore lately. I think I might need to find some bigger bras, considering how much they've grown recently. I read in that book that breasts grow as early as the first trimester but I don't think I've notice any difference until now.

I want to go to the commissary and look in, but I'm embarrassed to be seen by Terry that mans the commissary when it's open, or by the workers. I give my hair a shake out before gathering my belongings and exiting the bathroom. I'd be doubly mortified if I was looking in vain like an idiot. I do have the second key to the commissary...I could just go in there myself when it's unoccupied. Is that against the rules? I mean, I wouldn't technically be doing anything wrong. I am allowed to take what I want, so long as it won't deplete our current supply and I don't honestly think a bra or two would put us in danger of famine, or medical emergency.

"I'm sorry," I hear a familiar voice murmur behind a close door down the hall, "I thought you wanted me to."

"I-I did I just...I changed my mind," A voice that I now recognize as Laura's replies, "I, um, I just don't feel like it lately."

"We don't have to do anything, until you want to," Hal assures her softly, "I don't want you to think I'm some tosser that only wants one thing."

"I don't think you're a...whatever you just said, okay? I'm just not feeling it."

"Alright," Hal responds awkwardly, seemingly unsure of what to say, "I was just about to have some dinner, if you-"

"I think I'm just gonna go."

"Laura, you could stay," He suggests, "Just because we didn't have sex, doesn't mean we can't-"

"Doesn't that seem a little a weird to you?" She chuckles.

"No, it doesn't sound weird at all," Hal argues, a little frustrated, "We can't hang out without having sex? We use to before..."

"Before what?" She questions sternly. "Before I got back from Alexandria?"

I feel like such a nosy Nelly for slowing down to a near stop as I listen in.

"Well, yeah, to be quite honest with you."

"Don't start this again, Hal. I told you I was fine."

"I know, but you aren't acting fine and I'm just worried is all."

"Well, don't be. I'm fine. I'm not like Nan, alright? I don't need to be coddled and babied."

"I asked not to talk about her like that," Hal tells her, a protective edge in his tone, "Besides, she's got nothing to do with this, so don't-"

"She has everything to do with this!" Laura chuckles incredulously. "I know you don't get it, but trust me, she does!"

I curiously lean on the wall at the corner to find out what the hell she's talking about.

"...What does that mean? What's she got to do with you and me?"

"No, not..." She pauses for a moment, "That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

 _Yeah, really?_

"Never mind, forget it," Laura sniffs, "I've got to go."

"We're just friends, Laura. Nan and me. That's all, nothing more, nothing less."

"I get that."

"I know sometimes it seems like we're sweet on each other, but it's just a brotherly love. We use to be neighbors when we worked for points. We bonded over that, but it didn't go past-"

"I don't need you to tell me what I already know, okay? I said it's not about that. And I don't care that you and her had to work for points, either."

"I wasn't trying to-"

"It's rough, but that's how shit is. Workers could have it worse, trust me."

"How so?" Hal calmly asks. "Have you actually been down there? Taken a look around? Really paid attention?"

"Some people win, some people...lose," She retorts, trying to reverberate Negan's words with ease, "And it works. We're strong and those who are weak have to work for their keep. Have to earn their protection."

"The workers have to work to live safely?" Hal inquires of her. "They have to earn being protected by people who brutalized them anyway?"

"You weren't here before, okay?"

"Before?"

"Before Negan," Laura practically shouts, "You don't know what it was like before. It was way worse, until he came and gave us direction! Leadership that promised a better life and delivered. Because how it was before? If you were brutalized, or died...killed, it was because you were weak and couldn't defend yourself and therefore deserved whatever happened to you."

I'm honestly a little surprised to hear this. I've literally never heard about the Sanctuary before Negan. I didn't think this place existed before him, or that he improved things for that matter. It's hard to imagine a worse community.

"There was no community," Laura goes on, "The asshole who was in charge before just let everyone do whatever the fuck they wanted to whomever the fuck they wanted. It was goddamn cesspool. Then Negan came."

"And said things could be better." Hal states, repeating what she said earlier.

"He said there was strength in working together, because that was the only way we could ever get shit under control. We didn't have a community, until he showed us how to build one. No one thought about fixing the world, okay? It didn't seem fixable...not until he said it was."

"But only a few of you lived well after that. Not everyone."

"No?" She scoffs. "Things are a hell of a lot better than they were before and the workers that have been here that long will tell you so."

"Yeah, because they're too afraid to say anything else."

"Look, not everyone can do what we do and that's fine, but you still have to pull your weight. It might not seem fair that Saviors don't earn points, but we're the ones sticking out necks out to do shit that the workers are too weak to do."

"So, if you're weak then you deserve to get stolen from, or beat, or killed?" Hal counters.

"No, that's..." I hear the struggle in her voice, "You're trying to twist things."

"No, I'm just telling you what happens down in the quarters." "Yeah, but you're...you know what? I've got to go."

I hurry past the door and down the hall.

"Look, I like you, so I'm gonna give you a warning," Laura adds, "Just do your job and shut your mouth. I'm not gonna tattle on you, but if you keep talking like that, it's gonna get you in trouble. We're all Negan for a reason, you remember that."

"Okay, got it, " Hal replies, disappointed, "And I like you, too. I was only trying-"

"I know, but like I said, I'm fine," She insists, "I'll, uh, I'll see you later."

 **...**

I lay in bed on my side, getting a little reading done. I love Jane Eyre. It's one of those few books that I can read a hundred times and not get bored. Come to think of it...I look down at my pregnant belly...Jane's a pretty good name.

"What do you think?" I say to my bump, "Would you like to be named Jane?" I get no response. "No?" I wait. "Are you there?"

The only answer I get is a knock on my door. I look over my shoulder, knowing who it more than likely is.

"Yes?"

The door opens to reveal, surprise, surprise; Negan. His little visits are starting to get annoying.

"How's it goin'?" He walks in, using Lucille to close the door behind him. "You didn't come to dinner."

"I ate here," I close the book and haul myself up and facing his direction, "I didn't know you wanted me up there."

"You don't need a personal invitation," He smiles, "You know that."

"Well, I just decided to eat here."

"Going to bed?"

"Just about to. What do you need?"

"Only to see how you were doing," Negan has a seat in the armchair, "Personally and pregnancy wise."

"I'm good, everything's good." I get out of bed, suddenly thirsty. "Thanks for asking."

"How you liking the bed?"

"I'm sleeping better and my back isn't hurting as much."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

"I...I'll be up for breakfast tomorrow."

Negan looks over with a smile, pleased. "Good to know."

I let a small smile through. "H-how was your day?"

"How the hell do you think?" He chuckles. "I got about ninety-nine fucking problems and they all want to kill me."

I nod. "Well, things will get better, I'm sure."

"Look at you, being all optimistic," Negan grins, humored, "You're usually a bit of a fucking downer."

"Yeah, but...I know you'll figure things out." I clear my throat, before taking a sip of water.

"Is that right?"

"What?"

"You said you know I'll figure shit out," He reminds me, "How is it that you figure that?"

I look down into my glass of water, cheeks heating up. "I don't know. You just said you wouldn't let bad things happen and I...I believe you."

"You do?" He asks with a thin layer of skepticism.

"Yes." I plainly answer.

Negan observes me for a second, before his smile increases. "Now that's what I fuckin' like to hear! A little faith!"

I meekly smile, setting the glass to the side. "So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast?"

He stands up and waltzes on over to the bed. "You bet your ass you will," He leans down and plants a kiss on my temple, "Get some sleep."

"Okay."

"And you're right; I am gonna figure shit out and get it all back in order."

"I know."

Negan traces his fingers along my jaw down to my chin, grinning. "I'm happy to see you finally coming around."

 **...**

Around ten, I slink out of the room and head for the downstairs with a little flashlight. I tread casually and confidently like I'm not at all up to something that's possibly against the rules. I have to be as smooth as possible; it's not like I can dress in cognito and stealthily slip in and out. There's only two pregnant women here and I'm the only one that has a key and that doesn't have to adhere to the new curfew that Negan thinks will prevent any recurrences of a few weeks ago when the workers were just about to up rise.

When I'm down there, I scan the quarters to make sure that neither the watchmen above or the workers in their quarters are too nosy. I stick my key into the door, turn it, and go inside the commissary, closing the door quietly behind me. I then push the button on my flashlight and scan the sheer white light into the room.

I come across the bins of clothing under some shelves. I go to the bin that's labeled underwear, because that's where I've seen bras before. I find a few various sizes and begin checking tags for any C cups. A few months ago, I had what Negan joked as "B minuses," or "humble titties" and now I'm thinking this 36 C is looking like it'll fit just fine. I manage to luck out and find another, as well as a size bigger just in case.

I set my flashlight up on the shelf above it, so I can use the shelf to help myself up. As I steady myself, bras in hand, my eyes focus on the contents of the shelves. It's jars of food that still are good to have on the shelf. Some of its food the workers have packaged like pickles, pickled vegetables, preserves, jams, etc., while other jars contain foods that were scavenged and have a good shelf life. Like that little jar of honey mustard.

I'm immediately reminded of that worker whose mustard was filched by that damn Savior. I have half a mind to take this jar off the shelf and give to that worker. _Better_ _not_. Yeah, it's not like he'd accept it anyways. Still, it bugs me.

I exit the commissary silently as can be, locking it and stalking off towards home. It's dark, but I can make out enough without light. When I make it to the second floor, around the first corner, I notice that there is a little light coming from the closet that is used to store alcohol. That's not really unusual though. Saviors get hammered all the time at night. It leads to hyena laughter, raucous fights, loud sex, and the ever so occasional bout of singing. However, when I get to the door, I peek in to find Eugene looking through the bottles in what looks like some desperation.

I walk past without him noticing, listening to the agitated clinking sound. I also hear some mumbling that seems like a combination of irritability and like he's on the verge of a meltdown. I sigh under my breath and turn around. I find him still scouring the shelves.

"What are you looking for?"

Eugene startles a bit, looking over at me. He furrows his brows.

"Well?"

"I'm currently in the market for an imbibed bubbly that we seem to be in a shortage of."

"Wine? Or champagne?"

"Either will suffice."

I scratch my nose ring. "Yeah, well, you aren't going to find any in there. All that stuff is up top."

"Is that a tragic matter of fact?" His eyes travel down to the hand I'm holding my bras in.

I scoff, concealing them behind my leg. "Yeah, it is. Negan has it sent up to there, because the wives like it. Along with the good brown."

"I see," Eugene glances at the shelves. "Thank you for informing me of that."

"There's plenty of other stuff in there that I'd...," I exhale, "That I'd be more than happy to drink, if I were you."

"I am aware of the stock, however, I-"

"Are a lightweight?" I arch my brow.

"I don't partake in the stronger spirits out of distaste."

I nod, looking him over. Despite not liking him for what he tried to do to Dwight, I get the sense that Eugene's desperate for a drink, which I can understand. Who's to say I wouldn't be drowning my sorrows, if I wasn't pregnant?

"I've got a couple cases of beer in my fridge, if you want it. I mean, it's not wine or champagne, but it might be up your alley."

Eugene stares at me, almost distrusting, before weighing his options and nodding once in agreement. I let him follow me back to my room in silence. Just because I'm clearing out my fridge of something I don't need, doesn't mean I'm interested in being his friend. When I open up and go inside, he stands just on the threshold like he's not invited in. I toss the bras on the armchair and go to the fridge.

Dwight had the beer stacked in old carriers, which is convenient for me, because it'll make it easier to hand Eugene the suds. I grab both cases by the handles and bring them over.

"Here." I extend them to him. But Eugene's eyes are fixed on something in the room. I lower the heavy cases, following his gaze. He must be looking over at the chess set. I look back to him. "Here's the beer, Eugene."

He blinks to my face and then accepts the beer. "Much thanks."

"Yeah, sure."

"Do you play?" Eugene asks me.

"What?"

"Chess? You are familiar with the game of strategic skill on checkerboard?"

"Uh, yes, I play."

Eugene nods. "I take it that Dwight possessed the know how on playing as well?"

"Yeah, he knew how to play." I can suddenly feel the memory of that time I bet him I could beat him flood my chest. And what I got for losing. I blink back to him. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was about to put forth an offer to capture your queen sometime, if you'd be up for it."

"Uh, I don't know," I shake my head, "I was told..." Eugene waits for me to finish. "Dwight wanted me to stay away from you."

Eugene almost looks offended. "I imagine he would order you to do just that."

"He didn't _order_ me," I clarify, flustered, "He warned me. Because you tried to throw him under the bus when things got rough."

"If I had in fact decided to throw Dwight under said metaphorical bus, I would only be-"

"I don't want to play chess with you, Eugene," I tersely interject, "I don't even know why you'd ask in the first place."

He knits his brows slightly. "B-because you're lonesome and I myself could use some companionship from time to time. Strictly of a platonic nature, of course."

"I'm not lonesome," I swiftly deny, "I have friends, ones that I wouldn't betray. And I...I have Negan, too."

"Understood." He nods. "Evening."

"Goodnight."

 **...**

The next morning, I make good on my agreement to go to breakfast up top with Negan and the girls. I get out of bed, wash my face, brush my teeth, take my vitamins, holster my aching breasts in one of my new bras, and head up. Like usual, the food engulfs my nostrils as soon as I enter the stairwell. I can practically taste the food in mouth as my stomach growls fiercely. I feel like I can't get up these stairs fast enough to the food.

"I guess we're really hungry this morning, huh?" I talk to my tummy again. No response. "You aren't gonna make me it eat all, just to throw it up, are you?" Nothing.

I enter the top floor and try not to sound so eager as my footsteps note my arrival. Once I finally make it to the dining room, all the girls are in their places, eating.

"Good morning." Tonya smiles.

"Morning." I glance over at the empty chair at the head. "Everything smells so good."

"Yeah," Frankie says, before putting a hand out, "Oh, don't sit down!"

I halt from drawing my chair back. "Why not?"

She and the others look away in unison. "Um," She clears her throat, before looking at me, "Because Negan's eating in his room and he'd like you to join him."

"Oh," I glance behind me at his bedroom door, "Okay."

"There's already food in there." Tonya tells me. "So, you can go in."

"Thanks." I shift around and walk across the short hall to the great big double doors of Negan's bedroom. I take an uneasy breath before knocking.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

"...Come on in."

I put my hand on the handle and push the door open. I see him standing over by his dresser, doing god knows what, since he's completely dressed. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sunshine," He pushes the fourth drawer closed, "You're late."

"Only by five minutes."

"Every minute counts when you've got a war on your hands," Negan strolls over, "Relax, I'm kidding. Have a seat."

I go over to the sitting area and sit down in the chair I'm well acquainted with. My eyes explore all the glistening food on the coffee table. My nose first smells coffee, which I'm not sure I'm allowed to have still.

"Hungry?"

"Famished." I answer, taking the liberty of serving myself.

"How's the morning sickness?"

"It comes and goes." I say while chewing.

"Coffee?" He lifts up the coffee pot.

"No," I shake my head, "I can't have coffee."

'Still?" Negan sets the pot down, as he sits in the leather sofa. "I thought that was temporary."

"Well, I don't know," I talk with my mouth half-full, "I haven't..."

I stop to chew and because I know where this is going. Circling back to the same shit, different day subject that Negan's been hounding me on. Now I'm starting to realize why we're dining alone. I briefly meet his eyes, before taking another bite of my croissant and looking towards the windows.

"When do you think the fences will be up again?"

"Won't be too long," Negan replies, eyeing me, "Why?"

I shrug my shoulder, "I just thought that maybe I could take a walk around the perimeter when they are up."

"You did, did you?" He smiles with a patronizing inflection. "Well, that's not gonna fuckin' happen, so so much for wishful thinking."

"I don't think they'll come back," I mildly protest, "I mean, now that we're on red alert."

"You can't be too fuckin' sure, so better safe than sorry." He counters.

I glance down, disheartened. "I'd just like a little fresh air. That's all."

"Open a window."

"It's not the same." I wipe some sausage grease from the corner of my lips. "Are you not going to eat?"

"I am." He nods to the cup of coffee.

"Coffee's not a meal."

"Thanks, mom." He snickers.

I put my fork down on the plate that rests in my lap. "I'm not gonna eat while you watch me."

"I'm not watching you."

"You are," I argue, "And it's making me uncomfortable."

"How so?"

"Because when two people have breakfast together, they have breakfast together. One person doesn't eat, while the other stares."

Negan examines my face and his smile tips up, which unsettles me. He leans forward and begins to form food over to his plate.

"So," He speaks, "I saw you with that pregnant worker yesterday."

"I know."

"She's about...what? Two weeks behind you?"

I faintly shake my head. "No, about a month. She's carrying twins."

"Jesus," Negan huffs, "That won't be an easy go, will it?"

"No, I imagine not," I lightly observe him, "You know who the father is."

He peers up at me for a moment. "I do."

"And how he left her high and dry?"

"I'm aware."

"How can you condone that?" I sharply inquire. "How can you let him just-"

"So long as it's consensual," Negan interrupts, "Which it was, I don't care who fucks who."

"Yeah, but he-"

"And I'm not gonna force anyone to raise kids they don't want to fuckin' raise. I don't fuckin' have time for that." He irritably adds. "Get fuckin' real for a minute, Nan."

"She's preg-"

"She's pregnant and she chose to keep 'em, despite knowing Simon wasn't gonna have any part of that. All that said, plus the fact that she doesn't have to pay for food, that woman knew she'd be making her own way and she chose that."

My eyes lower and I nod in agreement. I guess that is true. She knew Simon had a tendency to not pull out and she still willfully slept with him. And she chose to keep the babies, regardless of knowing he wouldn't help her.

"I don't like it any fuckin' more than you do, sweetheart, but trust me, no kid ever benefited from being taken care of by parents, or parent, who didn't want 'em."

I pick my gaze up to him again. "What do you mean?"

"I think it's pretty fucking self-explanatory."

"I meant, how do you know that?"

"Experience." He chews his food.

"Your own?"

Negan inhales and exhales the way he does when he's getting frustrated. Usually when he's being hit with a barrage of questions.

"Sorry."

"So, what's she having?"

"Hm?"

"The worker," He elaborates, "She know the what she's having yet?"

"Oh, she's thinks they're fraternal and so far, a boy and girl."

"Huh," He uses his tongue to clear his gums, "She saw the doctor?"

"Yes."

"Oh, so she's wise and keeps track of all that prenatal health crap that you've neglected to take care of."

I scowl. "I guess so."

"So, when the hell do you figure you might go? When the baby's about to be born?"

"I'm planning on going soon."

"When?"

"I have to see when-"

"Dr. Carson isn't that busy and neither are you, so it's just a fuckin' matter of you getting your fuckin' ass over to the infirmary."

I stare at him, trying to convey for him not to speak to me like that. But his eyes are more intense and sure that he can speak however the fuck he wants.

"I'll go when I'm ready."

"And when do you think that'll be?" He interrogates.

"I..." I lick my lips, unnerved, which I think he can see, "I-"

"Spit it the fuck out."

My hand touches my stomach, which causes him to momentarily follow the motion. "I haven't felt the baby move." My hoarse confession makes Negan's eyes meet mine urgently. I swallow down tears. "It's supposed to have started kicking by now, but I haven't felt anything."

"So, why the fuck haven't you gone to the doctor?" He growls low.

"Because I've been too afraid to," I croak, "I'm afraid of what it could mean."

"That's why you go to the doctor's, Anna, so you fucking know, or not."

"I...I know. I'm sorry."

"Quit with the goddamn apologies and just fucking do the right- shit, the fuckin' smart thing the first goddamn-" He looks off in anger, not finishing his sentence.

I hold off the tears, placing my plate on the table, and turning my head towards the windows. I can feel his eyes focus back to me, but I try to seem like I'm ignorant of that as I keep from crying.

Negan takes another inhale and exhale, before running his hand down his beard. "Hand me your radio." He puts his hand out.

"What?"

"Give me the fucking radio off your belt."

I furrow my brows in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I fucking said so!" He booms and it frankly startles me. "I'm letting Reed know you're gonna be late."

I unclip the radio from the pocket of my jeans, since the yoga band has been covering where I'd normally clip it. "You want me to go now?"

"Yeah, Nan, I want you to go right fucking now," Negan extends his arm, "Give me the radio."

"No!" I hold it to me. "I'll...I'll radio him myself."

Negan looks me over and lowers his hand. "Alright, fine."

I glance down at the walkie and contemplate what I should say. Would Reed really radio after me, if I didn't show up in his office this morning? It's not like I do anything until later on. Quarter contraband checks are every three days and this isn't one of those days.

"You've got 'til the count of three," Negan warns me, "One...two...are you really gonna me make get to three? Alright, thr-"

"Okay!" I stop him. I reluctantly put my radio up to my lips, taking a deep breath. "Reed, this is Nan. Do you copy?"

"...Yeah, I copy," Reed answers a few seconds later, "What's up? Over."

"I'm..." I glance up at Negan, who's bluntly staring at me.

"Say again." Reed replies after my hesitation.

"I'm going to be late this morning," I inform him, "I...I'm going to see the doctor. I'll come find you for a briefing when I'm done. Over."

"Roger that."

"There." I tell Negan. "Satisfied?"

"Very," He chuckles with a wide grin, "Very fuckin' satisfied."

I toss the radio to the other chair and sigh through my nose in frustration. My eyes wander to my unfinished plate.

"Still hungry?"

"Yes." I admit.

"Go ahead and finish eating," Negan leans back, "We'll head down when you're done."

I pause my hands as they touch the rim of the plate. "We?"

"Did you think I'd miss it?" He smiles. "Miss something as monumental as this? Not a fucking chance in hell."

I sit up straight, worried. "If it's for the sonogram, I'll bring it to you tonight."

"I will be taking the sonogram, but that's not why I'm going with you."

"Why are you going with me?"

"One, to make sure you actually fucking go and two, because I want to be there."

I can't help but to just stare. "You...you do?"

"Yep, I want to see everything for myself," Negan puts his arm over the back of the sofa, "Not just hear about it."

Anxiety reenters the picture and spills over the odd feeling I got from his words. "What if...what if something is wrong?"

Negan's smile wanes as he considers that. "Well, we won't know, until we see the doctor."

"And if that's what we find out?"

"Then we'll go from there."

We'll go from there. _We_.

 **...**

Harlan squeezes the pump, watching the needle on the blood pressure dial. I sit perfectly still on the exam table in waiting. My eyes trail momentarily over to Negan's silhouette on the other side of the partition. He stepped behind there to get a glimpse of Gabriel, who's supposedly making a pretty good recovery. He was resting when we came in after breakfast and I think he still must be, because Negan hasn't said a word to indicate he's woken up.

"One-twelve over seventy." Dr. Carson finally announces, writing it down on his chart.

"Is that good?" I ask.

"That's a lot better than before," He answers, "I don't know what you're doing, but keep it up."

"Thanks." I smile, but I honestly have no clue as to why the blood pressure's down. "Does that I mean I'm clear to drink coffee?"

Harlan chuckles. "I recommend you stay away from caffeine to be on the safe side."

"Okay." I nod, a little disappointed.

"Your temperature is perfect," He claims, "And your heartbeat is as well."

"Good," I clear my throat, "Um, so this is probably a good sign then?"

"For your baby?" Harlan arches his brow. "Well, so far, so good. I don't see any external signs that anything's wrong."

"See?" Negan comes into sight, "You're getting all worried for nothing."

I shyly smile his way, before refocusing on the doctor and remembering the worry I still feel. "Um, I haven't felt the baby move yet. Is that normal?"

"Well, every pregnancy is different," Harlan replies, turning on the ultrasound unit, "That does seem a little odd, but I wouldn't read too much into it. Sometimes babies just enjoy sleeping." He smiles at that to get me to relax. "I could bring the chair around, if you'd like to sit."

"That'd be super." Negan smirks.

Harlan walks around the partition to get the chair.

I start to undress for the ultrasound. I only have to slip off my yoga band, but since I can't do that over my jeans, I have to remove my shirt, so I can pull over it my head. A wolf whistle bites the air, causing my eyes to seek out the location. It doesn't take long, obviously.

Negan's got a grin on his face. "Damn, darlin'," He says, "How long have you been hiding the melons?"

I quickly bring the band over my head and put my shirt back on. "Just recently."

"Well, our kid's not gonna go hungry that's for goddamn sure," He chuckles, "Can't believe I didn't notice those gals before now. I mean, you remember how small your titties were before, right?"

I breathe through my nose. "Well, they'll shrink after I stop breastfeeding, right?"

"Hm?" Harlan sets the chair by the table, pretending like he isn't uncomfortable by Negan's words, "Oh, uh, yes. You're breast size should return to normal after lactation stops."

"Bummer." Negan comments as he sits down.

"When will that be?" I inquire, almost feeling idiotic, because I don't know the answer by now.

"It varies," Harlan shrugs, putting on his gloves, "Sometimes it stops on it's own, but typically whenever you decide to wing the baby off breast milk."

I lie back on the table. "And how long do you think I should breastfeed?"

"Well, considering we don't have formula, I would recommend at least a year. If we don't have milk, then maybe a little longer for the nutrients."

"Okay." I nod my head. We don't have a cow, so unless Negan wrangles in those communities, than I doubt Negan's gawking will end at a year.

"You ready?" Harlan asks, forcibly squeezing a dollop of that cold clear gel on the center of my belly.

"Mhm." I nod again, taking a deep breath.

"Alright." Harlan grabs the rover off the machine.

I keep my eyes towards the ceiling, too nervous to look head on at the screen.

"Let's have a look."

"Okay." I inaudibly mouth. I flinch my hand a little when I feel something graze it. I look over at Negan, whose hand is on mine. He smiles so confidently, patting my hand and looking at the screen.

The sound of the heartbeat enters the room instantly and it sounds regular, which somewhat alleviates me. Harlan roams around my stomach.

"The heartbeat's at one hundred and fifty-one," He reports, "Same as last time. That's good."

"Everything appears fine?" I turn my head to view his face for that answer.

"See for yourself," He smiles, nodding towards the screen.

I glance over at the screen and my eyes transfix on the shape of my child. It's nestled in a C shape with it's little hands balled into fists. A smile emerges from my face and I get that radiant hopeful feeling I got the first time I laid eyes on my baby.

"Look at that," Negan marvels, "Healthy as a horse, right?"

"As far as I can tell," The doctor nods, "The baby's development appears relatively normal."

"Jesus," Negan replies under his breath, before smiling my way, "You relieved now? The baby's fine."

"Yes." I answer, continuing to smile.

"Would you like to know the sex?" Dr. Carson asks.

"Y-"

"Yes." Negan retorts definitely.

"Okay," Harlan takes the device off my belly, "Let me just put some more gel on." He reaches over for the tube. "Let me get a new tube, this one's out."

"Chop, chop, doc," Negan orders, patting my hand again with more panache, "I've waited a long fuckin' time for this and I'm getting a little antsy."

"It'll be just a moment." Harlan says as he gets into the cabinets.

Negan peers up at me, his smile is as bright and earnest as the morning sun. "I'm proud of you."

I'm puzzled by this. "Why?"

"For finally getting a checkup," He tells me, closing his fingers around my hand, "I know you were scared, but I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," I murmur, "Um, and thank you for...for coming with me."

"Wouldn't miss it for the fuckin' world, darlin'."

"I...I was scared," I admit again, "I was scared that if something was wrong, I might would lose...a part of him."

Negan's vibrant expression dwindles a little. "Huh," He licks his lips, "Well, everything's fine."

"I was sorry to hear about Dwight," Harlan comes back around with a fresh tube of that gel, "I know that you really were trying to get him to come to an appointment."

"Yeah, but he...he was busy." My eyes ignore Negan's which I can tell are squinting at me, possibly perplexed.

"Dwight told you he was too busy to come to your appointments?"

I scratch the skin around my thumb. "Well, he did do a lot for you. It kept him busy."

"Bullshit," Negan scoffs, "He could've made time."

"Let's drop it," I suggest, staring at him, "It's irrelevant now."

"What did he get a little shy of the doctor's office?"

"Negan."

"He spent a lot of time here," Negan carries on, "Your brother really had his work cut out for him when D got the iron. First time I ever had to fuckin' do that. It was gnarlier than I thought it'd be, but rules are rules and examples have to be made."

Blood begins to simmer behind my cheeks. "That's enough."

"They spent a lot of time together during Dwight's recovery."

"My brother?" Harlan pauses his motion.

"Yep," Negan relays, "They seemed cool. Well, that was until Sherry took off with the help of the old Dr. Carson." Harlan looks perplexed. "Before she was horribly ripped to shreds, she told Dwight that your brother released our prisoner to impress her or some shit, because he wanted to screw her."

Harlan's eyes blink towards me and I can't help but look at him with a devastating regret in my eyes, like I've deceived him.

"But don't sweat it," Negan tells the doctor, "All that's done and over with and you are not responsible for your brother's dumbass decisions."

The doctor nods, still bewildered and clearly bothered.

"Well, go on," Negan motions towards my bump, "Let's get back to it."

"Right," Harlan comes closer, still trying to make sense of what Negan's said, "Sorry."

I feel so wounded, so...so furious. How could he do that? My breathing inclines and I feel like I could just puke. The gel is cooling on my tummy.

"Okay, so...," Harlan begins, "Let's see what we can find."

"Wait," I abruptly speak, "Stop."

"Is anything wrong?"

"Yes. I mean, no," I gently push his hand and the device away, "I need to go."

"Are you sure?" The doctor asks. "We were just about to-"

"Yes, I'm sure," I slide myself off the table, "I need to...to go. I need to go."

"Nan, sit down." Negan sternly demands.

"No, I'm not gonna sit down." I snatch up my yoga band and tug my shirt down, despite the goo, and head for the door.

"Nan!" He calls behind me.

I storm out of the room, near the edge of tears. Angry tears, not crybaby tears. The sound of footsteps are not too far behind me by time I make it to the stairwell. I trot down the first flight, before stopping in the middle landing to catch my breath. The door to the stairwell is swung open so hard, I'm surprised it doesn't break off the hinges.

He can see me standing here from the top, so he descends the steps one foot at time. "You mind telling me what the fuck that was?"

"I needed to leave," I murmur, trying to breath normally.

"The fuck you did," Negan huffs, making it to the level, "I don't know what wild hair crawled up your ass, but you need to-" _Crack!_

At an impulse, I slap him. I'm so worked up, my eyes don't even widen in fear at what I've done. He turns his head forward and his eyes are darkly calm.

"Why did you do that?" I pant, "Why did you tell him that? Dwight didn't want him to know, because he was afraid that he-"

"What?" Negan scoffs, "That he wouldn't deliver the baby? 'Cause I guaran-fuckin'-tee you that-"

"He's dead!" I angrily shout. "He's dead, he's gone! Dwight's dead! Isn't that enough for you?" Negan's brows furrow a bit. "Why isn't it enough for you? Why did you have to torch him?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're-"

"Yes, you do," I snap, "You do know what I'm talking about." My breathing starts to finally calm down. "Why isn't it enough for you? I thought we were..." I look up at him and he waits, "Never mind. I need to go. I have to clean myself off, so I can go to work."

"Nan." He goes to stop me.

"Please," I softly plead, "Please, I...I just need some space."

Negan sighs heavily, removing his arm from the wall, "Fine."

I wipe a tear away with the back of my hand and go without thanking him for moving. I hear him curse below his breath.

I hurry as calmly as I can to my room. My jeans are buttoned and unzipped and anyone I should pass can see my underwear, but I didn't necessarily have time to slip my yoga band back on. I can't believe he did that. Was it because I mentioned Dwight? Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, it was because I mentioned Dwight. And why am I so shocked? It's Negan; of course he would be so cruel.

I slam the door to Dwight and I's room and go to the sink to wash this damn gel off me. The water's nice and cool, but I'm so furious, I'm surprised it's not searing up as steam upon contact with my skin. My throat's dry and aching, so I take a mug and fill it up. My hands tremble a little as I bring the cup to my lips.

Why couldn't he just stop? Isn't Dwight being dead enough? That's practically like winning for him. I tried to be nice and I-I thought we understood each other, at least on this matter. To think that I was flattered he wanted to be at the appointment with me. And that I let my guard down, only to be blindsided by him. Humiliated.

I can hear the clock tick softly on the shelf and I listen for a little while, winding myself down. Eventually, I glance over at the clock and decide I better change my shirt and go to work.

 **...**

The next day, I sit in Reed's office as usual. I weave my needle in and out through the canvas as I wait for the day to pass to an hour that I can get to work. I don't know why I'm making this little embroidery thing I've been working on, but I guess I thought it'd be nice. Who needs booties or a warm blanket, when you can have an aesthetically pleasing embroidery loop to hang on the wall? I'm sure the baby will appreciate it.

"Am I doing this for nothing?" I ask. I've decided to keep at talking to my tummy in hopes of getting some message back. "Huh?" I feel silly, because it seems like I'm talking to myself, but it also soothes me in a way. Even if I have yet to get a kick.

Reed comes in a few minutes later. "Hey."

"Hi."

"I gotta task for you to do."

"Okay, what is it?" I set my stuff down.

"There's a jar of mustard missing from the commissary," He informs me, "I need you to do a quick sweep of the quarters and find it."

"You think some stole it?"

"Someone had to have," Reed claims, a little frazzled, "Everything was present and accounted for, except for those bras, but you signed for 'em yesterday." He runs a stressed hand through his hair, "No one's signed for the mustard, or used points. Look, I just need you comb through the quarters, alright?"

I nod my head. "Okay. Do you have the logs that track point spending?"

"Yeah," Reed readily hands it to me, "And here's the commissary logs. Be quick about it. Negan wants to know within an hour."

"Got it."

"I mean it, Nan," He adamantly clarifies, "Negan-"

"Negan will know soon enough," I dryly assure him, before turning to leave, "If someone stole a jar of mustard, he'll be informed and they'll be punished before lunchtime."

* * *

 **So close, but Negan ruined it! I know most of you are itching to know what Nan's having, but you'll have to wait a little longer! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, despite not getting to find out.**

 **CLTex: Yeah, Nan's definitely got a lot bottled up, but I think it'll all erupt sooner or later and won't be pretty. I figured it was only right that she admitted that she was unsure, because in all reality, she can't possibly know with how close things are. And you're right, accepting help from Negan is probably for the best for now.**

 **Guest: I know it was probably disappointing to not get to find out whether it was a boy or girl, but it'll be revealed in due time!**

 **urmessismine: I'm glad you liked the ending! It was something new I wanted to test out, so hooray for getting a good reception!**

 **StTudnoBright: Yeah, I really wanted Negan to admit to not being the best husband to her when she was married to him, because it's good start for him to try to reel her back in. But there's some sincerity there, too. Negan's capable of causing a lot hurt, so how he might hurt Nan is indeed a question.**


	49. Forlorn

Starting from the back of the factory, I work my towards the front in search of the missing jar of mustard. The workers were all told to stand by their assigned quarter as I solemnly rifle through their belongings. I can feel the scorn and worry radiating from their eyes, but I don't allow it to bother me. They've got nothing to worry about. Unless of course they've got something they shouldn't have. I did find a small screwdriver in one quarter, but I just confiscated it without a word when the Savior Reed sent to accompany me wasn't looking. The worker who had it looked down in what I imagine was slight shame, because I could've, should've, turned him in, but I didn't. Even though he and all the rest never gave me reason not to.

Anytime I come across a jar of mustard, I check to see if and when the worker bought it, except if it's clear that they've had it awhile because it's mostly gone. It seems like such a trivial waste of time, looking for one jar of mustard, but Negan's taking it serious. Theft's always been a serious no-no, but now that things are getting a little tight, he's really not happy. To him, it's an insult to everything he's built. Times are getting tough and he's vowed to get us through it, only to have someone backslide in their faith of him. Big mistake.

Reed gave me an hour to find the jar, because he's got Negan breathing down his neck to find the culprit, so that he can dole out the punishment and get back to the war effort. I've found nothing so far and I honestly don't expect to. I just want to get it done and over with. It's difficult to have to squat down, stand up, move to the next quarter, and squat down again. The Savior, Carmichael, that was told to go with me, sometimes helps me up by the arm when I have a little trouble standing. By time I get to the front, I'm practically drenched in sweat.

In quarter 42, I repeat the grueling process, crouching down to go through his storage containers. As I pick along the cans and pans, I pluck up a jar of mustard. My head turns towards worker 42, John, whose eyes immediately display confusion and shock.

"Full jar," Carmichael says, "Is it the one?"

I flip through the logs. A sudden, terrible silence falls over the factory floor, as all the other workers anxiously watch and wait. Through the periphery of my eye, John almost seems on the edge of pleading with me that that's not his, because his was stolen a day or two ago, but he remains quiet. My eyes glance back at him and then Carmichael.

"Worker 42 bought a jar of mustard a week ago," I show him the logs, "On the fifth."

Carmichael reads the logs, which I can tell he's mildly perplexed on. "Are you sure?"

I hold the clipboard out to worker 42, "Are these your initials next to your number?"

"Uh, yeah," He nods, uneasy, "Yeah, those are my initials."

"Then it's not the stolen jar." I conclude.

Carmichael exhales. "Well, it's gotta be here."

"There's only a few more to go," I reply, "Let's finish up."

"Fine."

I nod before handing the jar back to John. His eyes look as if they might be humbly thanking me, but I only stare for a second, before proceeding. By time we finish the search, it's been exactly an hour and three minutes. I think Reed will more upset about our fruitless search than he will the three extra minutes. If he's on edge now, wait 'til he hears that I haven't found the mustard.

"Reed, this is Nan," I radio him, "I've gone through all the quarters. I'm on my way back."

"Don't go to my office," He immediately answers, "Come up to the meeting room."

 _Uh-oh._ "Okay, copy."

That means Negan's there, waiting for the results that must be apparently clear to both men. I can only imagine how much more on edge Reed must feel right now. Especially, since he's been called to the meeting room. Negan's been spending a lot of time there recently and now it's been universally acknowledged after Simon got chewed out, that it's not the place you wanna be told to go. It's like the principal's office, except I've never heard of any principals carrying around a barb wire bat.

I knock on the door, before entering. There, I find Negan sitting at the head of the table with a less than pleased look on his face, rolling Lucille back and forth, while Reed stands over by the window, arms folded, unnerved. All the books are out on the table; a mess in search of sense. I carefully close the door, then walk past Negan over to Reed.

"We didn't find the jar." I hand him the clipboard.

"That can't be right." Reed refuses, flipping through the papers.

"Me and Carmichael checked."

"Well, you must have checked wrong, then," His voice sharpens, as he walks over to the table, "It's here. You had to have made a mis-"

"Reed," Negan coarsely chimes in, "Your mistake is your fucking mistake. It's not on Nan, or Carmichael, or fuckin' anybody else. It's on you."

Reed sighs. "I've checked everything; took stock of every storage place we've got." His eyes blink towards me. "It's got to be in the quarters."

"Well, maybe you've been too lenient on 'em." Negan accuses. "Maybe you've let them forget who they work for."

"Negan, I-"

"What about the Saviors?" I add my voice into the mix, causing both of them to look my way.

"Excuse me?" Negan inquires.

I shrug my shoulder. "We just went through the quarters and it wasn't there. Reed's right; it's here, but it's not in the quarters."

"You think one of my men stole it?" Negan scoffs in disbelief. "You really think one of my fuckin' men would steal from me?"

"I...I do."

"Why? Why would one my Saviors do that? They don't have to pay for food, so why the fuck would they take it without signing for it?" He growls, amused. "Answer me that, darlin'."

I have a seat, putting my hand casually on my tummy as I ease off my aching feet. "Well, things are getting tight around here and some people might feel the need to stockpile in case things get bad."

Negan's eyes sharpen at my nonchalant suggestion. I knew it would be something he wouldn't like to hear. That there are people, _his_ people, that might possibly lack belief in him, despite willingness to say, "I'm Negan" and take the advantages given.

"Whoever did it, probably figured we'd only suspect the workers and if so, they were right. We did exactly what they predicted and tore through the quarters."

"If the Savior's are stealing, it's gonna make the worker's nervous." Reed mutters, barely under his breath.

Negan's grimaces over at his bookkeeper, sliding his tongue along his teeth.

"He's right," I tell him, "It's also gonna make them feel like no matter what they do, we're still gonna turn over their living spaces." My eyes look ardently into Negan's. "If we don't find the Savior who stole the mustard, than they've made fool out of us. Out of you, Negan."

Negan rolls Lucille to both sides of the table with a stern fixed stare in my direction. Finally, he inhales and exhales. "Go through the apartments," He orders Reed, "Find the damn jar and leave not one fucking stone unturned."

Reed nods his head. "Got it." He then looks at me and I start to rise to get to work.

"No," Negan points my way, "You are done for the day. So, Reed, you can go pick through the rooms. Make shit right."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll go, too." I start to get up, despite what Negan says.

"There's no need." Negan tells me.

"Maybe not," I use the back of my chair to help me up, "But it'll take half the time if two of us do it. Besides, I want to finish the job."

Negan looks me over, before smiling wide. "That's my girl."

I cringe inwardly as my face remains plain and aloof. I know he's hoping for even the slightest of smiles from me for that thimble's worth of approval. But I won't and when he loosens his grin into a simple facial expression, I know that he knows that, too.

"Alright, get to it."

 **...**

Reed and I take a room a piece as we work our way through the second floor. We were going to issue a PSA over the radio, but Negan demanded that we don't, because it would give the guilty party enough time to get rid of the evidence. However, word catches on real quick, much to Reed's displeasure. I, attempting to put him at ease, tell him we'll find the mustard and the Savior responsible, despite the Saviors knowing.

I notice a lot of Saviors trying their hardness not to give off looks of confusion, or frustration at the unwelcome news. It must come as a surprise to them. The Saviors never get raided. Well, at least not as a whole. Dwight got his door kicked in, but that's because Negan thought he set Daryl free. The thought of that morning use to make my stomach hurt, whenever I'd remember the way Negan let those animals stomp Dwight down. Now, I just feel anger.

The Saviors, I imagine, must feel like they've lost some shred of trust from Negan. They didn't bat an eye when the workers were being inspected, but them? Saviors? Negan's people, the people above all other people that belong to him? A few of them must question their place, or their value as people in his eyes. If any do though, they won't breathe a word to anyone of it. No utterance of doubt, grievance, or uncertainty from anyone. For who could they trust when we're all Negan?

Most Saviors stand outside their rooms, pissed, as we pull open their drawers, check the inside of any bins, crates, or boxes, peek into their closets and under their beds and between their mattresses. Though, not one of them looks at all worried, like the workers had. So far, nothing, but I trust we won't have to look much longer. Because it's a conflict of interest, I'm not allowed to check Hal's room, or Laura's even if we aren't friends anymore.

"Hurry up," She gripes at Reed, "I'm starving." She glances me over from the corner of her eye.

"How did things go at the doctor's?" Hal asks me, strolling up. Laura looks over her shoulder at him, then briefly at me, before returning her gaze back to Reed's inspection.

"It was good," I softly smile, "Everything's good with the baby."

"That's great," He smiles back, "So, out with it, then. What are you having?"

"I don't know," I reveal, "The doctor couldn't tell. The positioning of the baby wasn't conducive."

"Next time, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Clear." Reed comes from the room.

"Oh, thank God!" Laura sarcastically gives a sigh of relief, with her hand over her heart. She then scoffs, walking into her room and grumbling something incoherent.

"Let's move on." Reed tells me.

"Okay," I look at Hal, "See ya later."

"Later."

"Are you coming in?" Laura appears at the doorframe, impatiently staring at Hal for an answer.

"Uh, sure." Hal answers, unaware apparently that he was invited before now. He goes into her room and she closes the door.

Reed goes through my room while I stand by, uneasy. I try not to fidget as I watch him indelicately rifle through my room. He's thorough because he has to be; Saviors have a lot more places to hide things than workers do. Still, I don't want him to break anything. _Crash!_ Like he just did now.

"Sorry." He vaguely apologizes when the mug on the edge of the sink is accidentally knocked off.

"It's fine," I wince, "Just watch the chess set, please."

After looking under my bed, he goes over to the trunk and flips it open. He scrounges through it, holding up the picture I have of the couple I've never met. "Why do you have this?"

"It was in the trunk when it was assigned to me."

"You know, technically the trunk should've stayed in quarter 34," He looks at the picture, "It's not yours, it was just rented from Negan. Same as the space you lived in."

"Did you know the man in that photo?" I ask, ignoring his statement.

"I know everybody," Reed tucks the picture back into the tear of fabric, "So, yeah, I remember him."

"How did he die?"

Reed huffs, closing the trunk. "What the hell does it matter? He's dead and we're on borrowed time." He stands up and when he does, his shoulder bumps the bass trophy on the wall, knocking it off the nail. "Shit, sorry."

"Just leave it," I tell him as he goes to pick it up, "I want to go on."

"This is gonna take all fucking night." He grumbles as he stalks out of my room.

"No, it won't, " I follow him, "We'll find it before lunchtime."

The second floor is cleared of suspicion by ten-fifty five, so we move on to the third floor. I offer to go through Mark's room, since the alternative would be Vivian's. I figure she wouldn't appreciate me being there after I puked in her room months ago after she told everyone I was pregnant. I hear her snarkily flirt with Reed, joking about him looking the other way in exchange for a blowjob. But Reed doesn't find it funny, nor does he find the mustard, so he exits promptly. Vivian flips him off as he goes, calling him a name I don't quite catch. She then looks at me, filling her cheeks with air, as if to make fun of the baby weight I've put on.

I go to Mark's room and he politely allows me in, the first to do so without some attitude. He's clear, of course. I spy a little row of medicine marked "Lillian" on his desk shelf. I also find burn ointment, despite his injuries being healed. I turn to leave and meet eyes with him.

"Clear."

"Thanks." He says.

"Sure."

"And thanks for spending time in the library with Lillian."

I glance over my shoulder. "Oh, it's no problem. I like her...even if-"

"She can be pretty blunt," Mark chuckles, scratching the back of his head, "But she likes you, too, so..."

I chuckle. "Oh, well, that's good to know. I never know where I stand with her."

He snickers. "I think Amber's a little jealous. Uh, not that we speak, it's just that she refuses to even call Amber by her name and won't speak to her right now."

"Oh, why not?"

"Because she told Negan Lil needed to be put in one of the cells, when she thought she was on the verge of an episode."

"Oh..." I nod, "Well, I-"

"We're not here to fuckin' chitchat," Reed hollers from a room, "So, move your ass!"

"Okay!" I shout back, before looking over at Mark. "See ya. Glad to see your burns have healed."

"Thanks," He clears his throat, "You look...healthy for a pregnant lady."

"Thank you." I smile, before getting back to work.

Reed lives on the third floor, so I have to inspect his room, while he goes through the one across. He's not worried I'll find anything and he wants to get the job done, so he doesn't stand by while I search. His room is impeccably neat. Everything is so straight and tidy and all things have their own place. It's fortunate for me, because it makes it easier for me to clear him. In his nightstand, I find the basics; little round batteries for his watch, along with regular batteries, and some sundries. I don't know why I thought I'd find something sentimental in here, but I don't.

In the bottom drawer, I find a pad of paper. The front has a series of tally marks that I count to be twelve. The top header reads; "Killed." There's also another list, a group of numbers, or initials, separated by commas. There's twelve and it doesn't take me long to put two and two together. The numbers must be of the workers he's killed, while the initials are... other Saviors? Im about to wonder why he would have killed other Saviors, when my eyes focus on the number 34.

"Clear." Reed calls out in the hall.

"Clear." I say back, tossing the list back in the drawer, closing it, and exiting. I look at him as we meet in the hall, which causes his brow to raise as he peers towards his room.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

I always guessed that Reed had killed before, but it's so strange to see that he's kept track for whatever reason and that it's been so many. Though, I suppose other Saviors could boast a higher body count.

"Fuck!" He complains, "If we don't find it on this floor, we've got two more fucking floors to go."

"Relax," I move past him, "We'll find it any minute now."

We work our way through the third floor, making to the two rooms closest to the stairwell by eleven forty-five. It's exhausting, but I don't dare bitch, since I know we have to be getting close. I just wipe the sweat from my brow and ignore the rumbling of my stomach.

"Hurry up, would ya?" A Savior calls from his door.

"Shut the fuck up." Reed bitterly fires back.

The Savior, Steve, I think, chuckles. "Some of us got shit to do, Reed. Shit we do right the first time."

"I'll take his room." I tell Reed, who's just about to throttle the guy.

"Fine by me." He murmurs, going into the room across from Steve's.

I glance back at Steve who stands about a foot and two inches taller than me. He cockily grins. "How's it goin', preggo?"

I don't reply, I just enter his room to look for the mustard.

"Look around all you want, but if your water breaks, you're fuckin' mopping it up."

I take a deep breath as I dig through a crate.

"So, what are you gonna do about the kid?"

"What?" I finally speak, while I continuing to look.

"I mean, now that Dwight's dead as doornail," He cruelly elaborates, "I'm guessing you're gonna cling back onto Negan's waist, since you've got no one to help you raise Dwight's brat bastard."

I peer over my shoulder at him and his big grin widens.

"I've seen you come and go up these stairs," Steve relays, "It's cool, no judgments."

"Whatever."

"Are you gonna make the kid call the boss 'daddy'?" He continues to prod. "'Cause if so, that is some fucked up shit."

I slam my hand up on the counter, hauling myself up to my feet. I walk directly across from the kitchenette and over to fridge.

"Though maybe it's for the best; you wouldn't want your child knowing what a whore you a-" He's smile slightly declines as his eyes focus on what I've got in my hand.

In the door of the fridge, my hand closes around a glass jar, which I pulled out while he was in the middle of taunting me. I look it over and then at him.

"Did you sign for this?" I ask him.

"No, I got it from a worker."

"Which one?"

"Uh, I don't know, I think 42."

I flip through the logs. "42 purchased a jar of mustard a week ago and it's accounted for," I look up, "In his quarter."

He slowly furrows his eyebrows. "Well, that's-"

"Clear!" Reed shouts from the outside.

Steve and I make eye contact. His mouth is open, but he's suddenly at a loss for words.

"I think you better come in here."

Reed stalks in, past Steve. "What? What is-" He stops mid-sentence when he spots the mustard in my hand. "Is that the mustard?"

"No!" Steve protests, "No, that's legit! I took off a worker!"

"Worker 42 has the mustard he bought in his possession." I dryly claim.

"Well, then he's the one who fucking stole it!"

Reed glances him over, before looking at me. I stare back, certain. "He's got a jar that's accounted for. Steve doesn't."

"That's because I TOOK IT FROM A WORKER!" He angrily enunciates. "Any moron knows you don't have to fucking sign for something you take off the workers."

I shrug my shoulders. "Well, all I know is that 42 has a jar that we've got down on the books and you've got one with a story."

He scoffs, looking at Reed. "Reed, come on! You've got to believe me!"

Reed inhales and exhales. "Can anyone vouch for you?"

"42 can," Steve spits, "And any fucking worker around at the time."

Reed taps his finger on the side of his leg, before sighing again, "Alright, I'll check into it."

"Thank you," Steve says, "Jesus."

"But, you've got to come with us." Reed adds.

"Excuse me?"

"Negan's call."

Steve stares at him, dumbfounded, then turns towards me. I unclip my radio from my belt. "Negan, do you copy?"

"...For you, beautiful, I sure do," He answers a moment later, "Found my jar of mustard?"

My eyes don't break their gaze. "We're bringing Steve from the third floor down now."

 **...**

"What the fuck do you mean you don't fucking remember that?" Steve yells in the face of worker 42.

"I-I'm sorry, but I don't." John nervously claims.

"You're fucking lying!" Steve shouts at the top of lungs, grabbing a hold of John's tattered shirt. "I fucking took the mustard from that fuckin crate and then I knocked it over!"

John's eyes look towards Reed and then me as we stand outside the quarter. His eyes lower from mine and he peers back at a fuming Steve. "It must have been someone else."

"No!" Steve objects, "No, you stupid asshole! It was you." He whips his head to the right, pointing at the woman two spaces down. "You! You were there. You tell 'em I was here."

The lady bunches her cardigan in her hands, just as uncomfortable as John. But, she glances over at John, then back to Steve. "I'm sorry, I don't recall that."

"Oh, my fucking god!" Steve rages, kicking John's crate again. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

"Maybe it was someone else, Steve." Reed says with his arms crossed.

"No, no, it was this prick!" Steve roughs him up. "He's just covering his own ass."

"Everyone else who had mustard had theirs accounted for." I inform Reed.

Reed solemnly nods. "Listen, Steve, you-"

"No, Reed. This is wrong!" Steve shouts. "This is a mistake. I know I don't have it accounted for, but that's-"

A chilling, telling whistle quiets all commotion. The factory was silent before, listening to Steve's barking, but now it's deathly so. Those of us in the vicinity, turn around and kneel, even Steve who's likely scared shitless. Negan descends the steps with a pounding foot on each stair, like monster in a kid's imagination.

"On your feet!"

Reed helps me as I rise up a little unsteadily. Negan has that smile on his face that never means anything good. His eyes are set on Steve, who's avoiding eye contact out of fear.

"Reed?" Negan addresses the head bookkeeper with his eerily calm tone. "What have ya got for me?"

Reed gives me a quick glance. "Uh, well, Nan found the jar in Steve's fridge. It's not on the books and he's got no way of proving he took it from a worker."

"John has the jar he bought," I feel the need to add, although Negan didn't ask me, "And he doesn't recall Steve taking anything from him."

Negan's eyes look me up and down, before he blinks towards Steve and John. "42?"

"Yes?" John picks up his gaze to meet Negan's.

"Is what our moon-sized bookkeeper saying true?" Negan inquires with Lucille resting against his shoulder. "You don't recall Steve taking a jar from you a few days ago?"

John looks at me. I just look at him plainly; I can't answer for him, he has to say it. He swallows the lump in his throat and peers over at Negan. "He didn't take mustard from me. Mine's in my crate."

"He's fucking-" Steve goes to call him liar, but Negan holds up two fingers to silence him.

Negan shifts a little to set his eyes on Steve with a smile. "He's fucking lying? Is that what you were about to say, Steve?"

"Sir, I swear, I-"

"Because 42 here's got written documents proving where he got his yellow spread from, while you got...nothing."

Steve's speechless. He seems to be on the verge of trying to figure out how to make Negan believe him, or else how to beg for mercy, since he knows what's coming. Negan chuckles at his face expression.

"Alright," He turns back to Reed and I, "Reed, get everyone to the front of the factory A-SAP."

"Yeah." Reed nods, going off.

Negan then orders two Saviors to grab Steve up by the arms without saying so much as one word. Steve resists as much as he can. "No, no, no! This is a mistake! I swear! I fucking swear!"

Negan strolls up to me. "Could you get Harlan for me?"

I watch as they drag Steve kicking and screaming. "Sure."

"Good girl," He smiles, "And then after that, you can stay put in your room, until all this shit is done and over with."

I glance up at him, brows knitted. "What?"

"You know what's gonna happen, right?"

I nod my head. "Yes."

"Yes," Negan nods the same way I did, "It's not gonna be a pretty sight and I don't want you to see it."

"I've seen you do it before." I remind him.

"Yeah, but that was before you were pregnant and prone to cramping," He replies, getting a little closer, "I don't want to take the chance of it putting tension on you."

"Why would it put tension on me?"

"Because I know you," Negan tucks a strand of hair behind my ear in front of everyone, much to my discontent, "You'll blame yourself for what's about to happen, even though you did a fine ass job of finding out who stole from me and should therefore be proud of yourself."

"I-"

"Yes, you will," He cuts me off, "That's how I learned you were holing up in one of my cells after the last time I had to do this."

I quickly remember that day and how awful I felt. The day I isolated myself from the workers, thus sealing my fate. The first time I felt Dwight inside me. I take a deep breath, before blinking back up at him. "I'll be fine."

"Don't fuckin' argue with me on this, Anna," He's smiling, but I know he's getting pissed, "Just do what I say."

I lower my gaze. "I wanna see this through."

Negan's eyes scan my face. "Why?"

"Because I...I just do," I look up, "I can handle it. I promise."

He analyzes me for a moment more, before his smile tips up. "Alright, suit yourself."

 **...**

About fifteen minutes later, everyone's gathered to witness the show. Even the wives were told to come down, so I make out Danica already comforting the fragile Amber. Steve is being made to stand by the table where his fingers will be chopped off in front everyone. He's obviously panicking on the inside, because externally his chest shows agitation in his breathing. The metallic thrumming of something being banged against the railing makes us all turn towards the noise and lower ourselves to the ground. I stood over by the stairs, so when I had to kneel again, I can pull myself up if I need to. The only person standing and moving is Negan as he makes his way down the stairs for the second time this hour.

"At ease." He says with a slight humor in his voice.

We all rise. I put my hand on the rail and stand up. Our eyes meet as he makes it to the last step, but I swiftly turn my head forward. Negan grins and then offers up Lucille for me to hold for him. Reluctantly, I take her and he continues through the crowd of workers and Saviors that make a path for him.

"I really don't like doing this shit," He tells the lot of us, "And I'm getting sick and fuckin' tired of having to do it. We have rules for a goddamn reason. The rules keep us safe."

"The rules keep us safe." Everyone reverberates, because it's expected.

"Damn right," Negan says, "And because we've got rules for a goddamn reason, we've also got consequences for a goddamn reason. To keep us safe." He moseys on over to table in a way that's almost like a predatory game he's playing with Steve. "Now, I know some of you are gettin' a little worried about the hostile communities that attacked us a few weeks ago. Some of you are pissin' your pants at night, wondering if they'll come back to finish the job, or wait until we're out of resources and have to surrender, _before_ they kill us." He turns toward the crowd. "Well, that shit's not gonna fuckin' happen."

Some Saviors in the crowd clap, or whistle in cheer to their leader's claim of no surrender. This only encourages him.

Negan smirks. "We're the big swingin' dicks of this world and we sure as fuckin' hell are not gonna get on our knees for some piss patrol villagers that got their panties in a twist." More ample cheering comes. "We're Saviors; we save people and we sure as shit don't let other people get in the way of that, because they refuse to see all the good we're doing for the world. We work together, or we die."

He shifts to the side to look at Steve's blanched face. "We worked together, or we die," Negan repeats, "And what we sure as hell don't do is steal and hoard resources for ourselves when shit gets tough. We're in the middle of a fuckin' war and weakness is not a option."

He walks over to the table and picks up the butcher's knife. The blade grazes the stone top, which creates a sharp, terrible sound. Both Saviors force Steve's left hand down on the table. While he has to be forced, Steve spreads his fingers wide out on the flat surface. Negan pours some rubbing alcohol that was on the table over the blade of the knife.

"Stealing is a no-no," Negan reminds us all, "Always has been and always will be. Everything we grow, make, or take is open to all those who work hard to earn it. Anyone who's looking for a little five finger discount is gonna lose those fuckin' fingers!"

I get the sense that I'm being watched, so I cautiously look around. I am being looked at, but by more than one person. A few workers, John included, glance my way, some lowering their gaze when I make unabashed eye contact.

Negan lifts up the butcher's knife. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for his fingers to be severed from his hand. But Negan lowers the knife, as if hesitant. The accused opens his eyes, fearfully puzzled. Negan twists his mouth to the side. "No, you know what?" He says, before he abruptly and swiftly brings the knife down. Steel meets stone almost instantly.

Steve's eyes bulge and he lets out a blood curdling scream. Some people gasp and Amber's tears can be heard from over here, not expecting the blow that was delivered. I myself didn't see it coming. It was a jar of mustard, not a stolen weapon. Steve horrifically holds up his red stub, bloody spewing out. His hand remains on the table where Negan chopped it off.

"It wasn't me!" Steve cries out. "It wasn't me! I didn't do it!"

"From now on," Negan shouts over the screams, "I'm taking a whole hand for any fucking counts of theft. Hopefully this is a good lesson to the rest of you that I'm not fucking around anymore!"

Harlan rushes over to assist Steve, trying to get something on the open wound to stop the bleeding. I hear him tell one of the Saviors to pull the iron out of the fire. I retrieved him for Negan, but I didn't have the guts to face him. I just knocked, told him Negan wanted him downstairs, and then walked away before he could open the door. Harlan puts on the glove to take hold of the iron. The Savior splashes the alcohol over the iron, causing a hissing steam, before Harlan presses the iron to the end of the stub. Steve howls in agony, before passing out.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the sickening smell of burnt flesh and blood. _Be strong_. When I open my eyes, I see Negan toss the knife on the table, amused that Steve fainted because of the searing pain. I flicker towards some eyes that I feel watching me again, before I turn and start up the stairs.

As I go up the steps, I peer over to my left and spot Laura staring at me like I'm the one who did that, which really seems no different from how the workers are looking at me. I feel a hundred eyes on my skin like cigarette burners, but I give Laura an indifferent look and continue up the stairs.

I faintly listen to Negan's closing speech as I tread away to my room. The halls are empty, because I'm the only one who walked away from the sight.

When I finally get to the room, I calmly close the door and take a deep breath. My feet start to pace and as I go to put my hands up to my face, I'm suddenly reminded that I didn't travel here alone. I forgot to give Lucille back to Negan, probably because I forgot I was holding her. I set her down against the armchair as I slowly pace to and fro. The window's already open, but it's not good enough; I need fresh air.

My hands cover my nose and my mouth for a few moments as I stop in the middle of my path. _It's okay. Be strong_. I put a hand on my stomach, before going to the sink for some water. I fill up a mug and try to keep my hands from trembling as I bring it up to my lips. But it's no use. Water spills onto my shirt, making me cold and angry.

I throw the mug across the room, shattering it against the wall. The bass trophy that Reed left on the floor is rained on by water and shattered ceramic pieces. I huff, grabbing up a rag, the hand broom, and dustpan, before marching over to clean up the mess. I carefully ease down on both knees to sweep up the pieces of broken mug, dabbing the wet areas with my rag. It's an oddly soothing process.

I pick up the trophy, tucking it under my left arm as I use the headboard of the bead to help me up. Something, a rattling, curiously comes from the bass.

I hang the damp rag on the trunk, so I can fix the trophy back on the wall. As my right hand reaches to retrieve it from under my left arm, that's when I see it. It looks like a folded piece of yellow paper. I stick my thumb and forefinger in the bass's mouth to pluck it out. That's when I discover there are small things down in the belly. I tip the trophy the other way, listening to the rolling, that's now a double rolling sound that soon deposits three items into my hand.

Two rings and a cigarette butt. One of the rings is a little diamond ring, while the other's a gold band. These must be Dwight and Sherry's wedding rings. Dwight must have hidden them here for safekeeping. I poke the cigarette butt, rolling it this way and that way. There's a pink lipstick stain on part of it. This must have been why Dwight was so adamant about leaving the trophy alone. He must not have wanted me to see the mementos of his wife.

I sit down on my trunk and unfold the paper, which yields a letter in a lovely hand. A small piece of me feels like I shouldn't read this, so much so, that I look towards the door as if he'll come in at any moment, catching me reading this secret letter. But that won't happen and it's not like he'll ever know. The letter has to be from her. The addressee is "D" and it begins by reminding him of how they had a plan if they got separated. Wherever he found this letter must have been where they had planned to meet. She then apologizes for making him come back here when he didn't want to and even takes partial blame for the person he became to survive here.

The letter goes on to talk about why she let Daryl go and how Dwight use to be a better person than her. A person who is gone now and replaced by a new man who might force her to come back, if not kill her. I can't help but feel strongly against that, while also feeling it's not my place to. She hopes he remembers who he was and she hopes he'll get away. The letter ends by claiming that she loved who he was and she's sorry she'd made him into who he is, before a clean cut tear at the bottom of the page ends all dialogue. The tear was probably what Dwight gave Negan when he framed Carson.

I stare at the letter for a few moments more, before wiping tears I didn't know formed away. I fold the letter back up and poke it back into the bass mouth, then I gather up the other trinkets and pour them back in as well. I place the bass trophy back on the nail it hangs from. My finger scathes the skin around my thumb, while the other hand start to gravitate towards my belly. But I don't let it rest there; I don't know what to do with it. My hand just sort of suspends, as I try to process it all. Then, there's a knock on the door.

My head turns left. "Yes?"

The door opens, but I knew it was Negan before he came into sight. "You ran off with my best girl."

I blankly stare at him, before my eyes focus on Lucille's handle poking up from where she rests against the chair. "Oh," I rasp, "Sorry, I forgot I was, um...she's right there."

Negan strides over to collect his bat, then comes my way. "You holdin' up?"

"Yes," I adamantly state, "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," He replies, as he walks around the chair, "I mean, you're fine as hell, but you don't look fine."

I move off to the side. "I'm fine, I'm just tired." I sit down on the edge of my bed. "I think I'm gonna lay down for awhile."

"You hungry?" Negan strolls over. "Because-"

"I'm not hungry," I kick off my shoes, "I just want to lay down for a while."

His face instantly shows a hint of displeasure. "You're not gonna go back to moping are you?"

"No," I shake my head, "I'm just tired. I did just search all the quarters and half the apartments."

Negan looks me over. "Yeah, that's fair."

I flicker my eyes towards the door. "So, I guess I'll lay down for an hour and then go back to work."

He nods. "Sure." Negan taps his finger against Lucille, "Will you be joining us for dinner later on?"

I look off towards the spot where I previously stood. My finger picks at my thumb. "Yes. I'll be up."

 **...**

The next three days are hard. Things go back to normal, despite the horrific gore we all witnessed. But that's how thing always are; Negan punishes a ruler breaker, it's awful, and then we all just shove on. I haven't been able to sleep very well lately. I could read all night and not get a wink of sleep. There's a sort of disquietude in my chest that I can't comprehend at the moment. So, I've stayed up, reading aloud to my baby. I did go up for dinner that night and then breakfast the next morning. I've eaten all my meals up here for three days.

I report for work after breakfast and then go either to the library, or my room. Today, I decided to go to the library and help Lillian. Well, I didn't necessarily go up there to help her, but she handed me some books to stock on the shelves and I didn't whine about it. I learn how the Dewey Decimal system works for the first time in my life. We quietly work, until we're done and Lillian puts the kettle on. I brought my needlework to do while I wait for lunch to roll around. My fingers are all sore from me carelessly pricking them with the needle.

"Here." Lillian offers me a cup.

"Thanks." I accept it, setting it on the little end table next to the chair, so it can cool.

"You're pale," Her soft, slightly withered hand gently grazes my forehead, "Are you ill?"

"No."

"You sound forlorn."

"Well, I'm not forlorn." I dryly tell her. "Maybe it's vitamin D deficiency."

Lillian stands over me for a discerning second, before she walks back over to her desk. "Boy, or girl?"

"I don't know."

"You want to wait until it's born to know?"

I suck air through my teeth as I poke my finger with my needle. "No...I mean, I don't know. The plan was to know, but I walked out."

"How come?" She asks, arching her brow over a book.

"Because Negan..."I sigh, putting my needlework down and picking the teacup and saucer up.

"Because Negan...?" Lillian presses. "Finish your sentence."

I take a cautious glance towards the open door and into the vacant hall. "Because he told the doctor something about Dwight and it angered me."

"What was said? Something untrue?"

"No, it was technically the truth, but it was-"

"Wasn't something to your liking, so you'd rather it not be said and known?"

I close my lips and look off. Yes, actually.

"Did you know what sort of man he was, before you let him bed you?"

A chuckle escapes, almost causing me to spit my tea. "He didn't _bed_ me."

"Oh, so, the child's not his."

"That's not what I said," I retort, "It could be his."

"But you said he didn't bed you," Lillian looks over at me with her usual blank, yet astute expression, "Didn't you?"

"We had...sex," I whisper the last word, "Okay? I just don't want to call it what you called it."

"Don't be a child." She snickers, which is so out of character.

"I'm not being a child," I claim, frustrated, "And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because, Lillian, people don't want to talk about their private lives."

She optically assesses me. "I apologize if I was curt, or offensive to you."

I take an annoyed sip from my tea. "It's okay." I get back to my needlework. "I just don't want to think about it that way."

"The sex?"

"Yes," I groan, rolling my eyes, "I don't want to...remember it like that. It makes it seem like...like I was just some woman."

"Ah, you're afraid he used you to supplement what he lost. Who he lost."

My mind draws back to when Dwight returned from going out to look for Sherry. I let him use me then. I allowed him to take me on his mattress, on my mattress, in the armchair, against the armchair. He couldn't finish most of the time and other times he'd stop when I'd ask him to, or when he became partly aware of what he was doing.

It wasn't all bad, though. Sometimes I'd become ensnared by his scent, by his warmth, by his presence and I would feel good, like I was a comfort to him. I know that it wasn't a good time, frankly it was miserable for the both of us, but I also know that he really did want to be with me. He said so. He proved so.

"Am I wrong?"

I glance up at Lillian. "What?"

"You aren't afraid he was using you?"

"No," I deny, "We made amends. He wanted to be with me."

Lillian nods. "So, you knew what sort of man he was before you and he-"

"Yes, okay? Yes. I knew he had done bad things, before I had sex with him."

"Well, then stop getting so mad when people recall those bad things," She promptly retorts, "You don't get to control how others see him, nor do you get to decide that he didn't cause harm to people. That he didn't kill people who didn't deserve it."

I go to argue back, but there's something about her expression that reminds me of my mother and it quells me. I look up at the clock. "I'm gonna go get some lunch."

"Yes, why don't you do that." Lillian goes back to her book.

I gather my things, haul myself up, and walk out. "I'll give Amber your best."

 **...**

 _Damn_. I align my fingers properly on the keys, again. I begin to play the same melody over again, for the hundredth time, on the piano in the drawing room. After I ate with the girls, they invited me to stay until I needed to go down and collect from the workers. I turned down the offer, but they persisted and honestly, I'm not feeling the library after Lillian and I's conversation. I don't know how Mark figures she likes me, because every time we have an actual conversation, she rips me a new one.

I guess there's really no harm in staying up top for today. I get hit with a barrage of questions about the baby. Apparently, Negan didn't share with them what happened the other day, except shortly telling them that everything was "fine." All except Amber were interested in any details I could provide. I'm not sure what her problem is, but I don't think it really has anything to do with me in particular. Probably Negan. She is the easiest target, so he probably does or says something to upset her for his own amusement, or when he's in a bad mood.

I told them as well that he had said something that provoked me to leave before finding out what I'm having. Unlike Lillian, they sympathized with me. Tonya even said it was the perfect punishment for him for not shutting up when I asked. Although I liked the sympathy, I'm not disregarding what Lillian said either. I'm just sore about the subject.

 _Damn_. The middle finger and ring finger of my left hand both keep locking up whenever I try to pick up the pace. They immediately ease up, but it's no good when I'm trying to play the piano and my fingers seize up and then snap out of it. I knew they got stiff sometimes, but I hated to think that they'd behave like this musically.

"You okay over there?" Frankie asks, knitting something with fluffy yellow yarn.

"I'm fine." I stretch my fingers.

"It sounded nice."

"Thanks." I murmur, knowing that she's just being nice.

Frankie continues to look at me, which I can make out from the side of my eye. "Hey, you know, I could give you some pointers on knitting, if you want."

"That's alright," I tell her, "I don't think my bum fingers will offer any help." I inspect the scars along the three fingers.

"Eugene finally got my boom box fixed." Tonya walks in with an old blue boombox. "I even got some new CDs from the commissary."

"Glad to hear." Hazel breathes.

"What? It's not like the workers have use for 'em. There aren't any music players in the commissary." She plugs the boombox into the outlet by the bar.

"It better not be another disco CD, or else I'm chucking it like a frisbee out the window!" Hazel adds behind her comic book.

"It's not, so shut up."

I lean my elbow on the piano and lay my head in my hand. I observe the ladies as they go about their leisurely hobbies. I can't honestly say we're all that different, since I'm back to doing nothing; spending my days working on useless projects to keep myself busy. It like I never left.

An accordion enters the air and it only takes me a second to realize it's coming from Tonya's boombox. It's sounds like an old song. A man's bass-baritone voice begins to croon shortly after.

 _"Oh Shenandoah, I hear you calling,_

 _Hi-o, you rolling river._

 _Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you,_

 _Hi-o, I'm bound away._

 _'Cross the wide Missouri."_

The melancholy melody instantly downs me, as I stare off at the wall behind Frankie and Hazel.

" _Missouri, she's a mighty river,_

 _Hi-o, you rolling river._

 _When she rolls down, her topsails shiver,_

 _Hi-o, I'm bound away,_

 _'Cross the wide Missouri."_

Thoughts of Dwight flood my mind as I sit in silence at the piano. I guess maybe it's the song, but I remember that day we drove down to the river to fill up on water. I sat down on that log by the river, upset about the fight I had with Hal, and Dwight came over and was nice to me. And then we both tried to save the other when that rotter came out of nowhere. Dwight ended up being the savior, no pun intended. I just got us wet.

I also remember the two of us faintly chuckling, which I think was the first time we ever let our guards down. That was the same day I rode to and back on the back of his motorcycle. I pressed against him for warmth and to keep from falling. Then I blew him in the closet when we got back, but I'm not ashamed of that.

 _"Farewell my dearest, I'm bound to leave you."_

 _Hi-o, you rolling river._

 _Oh, Shenandoah, I'll not deceive you_ ,

Hi-o, I'm bound away,

'Cross the wide Missouri."

The song ends and I have my own river welling in my eyes. The smile that formed while I was reminiscing fades.

"Nan?"

My watery eyes blink towards Hazel. "Hm?"

"What's wrong?" She asks, concerned.

I causally clean the tears from under my eyes. "Nothing," I force a chuckle, "It's just the song. It fucked with my hormones."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Tonya says from the bar.

"Don't be," I get up from the piano, "It's not your fault. I'm just..." I walk out of the room without knowing how to finish that sentence. I go into the bathroom.

I'm just what? As much as I'd like not to be bothered by that letter, the rings, and the cigarette butt I found three days ago, I admit that I am. I don't think it's jealousy that Dwight hid little keepsakes of his wife, along with an incriminating letter, in the room that we shared. Part of me understands, of course, why he would hide those things. But why didn't he tell me? I wouldn't have told a soul.

I can't help but think about what would have happened if he never came back that day. Would he have run off her, if she didn't run from him? Where would I be in that case? Would I have still married Negan? I'm not jealous; it makes no sense to be. Both Dwight and Sherry are now dead. However, my heart feels like breaking at the thought of him meeting her at wherever it is he found her and the two of them living free, away from Negan and this place. Leaving me behind. What if I was pregnant then?

I dap some tissue around my eyes, before blowing my nose. I have a seat on the rim of the bathtub, as I collect myself. The door to the top floor opens and closes and I hear those long strides coming from down the hall. His loud mouth informs the ladies that he's gonna take a piss, which is what everyone was waiting to hear, I'm sure. He also orders one of them to make him a sandwich. I stand up as the door opens.

Negan sees me immediately. "Well, hello there."

I sniff, holding my elbows. "Hi."

"Crying?" He examines, closing the door behind him. "What's with the waterworks?"

"It's just hormones." I croak.

"Hormones?" Negan smiles.

"Yeah, I just..." I shrug my shoulders, "Got a little teary-eyed for no reason."

"Well, that just sounds like you in general," He stalks over to me, "It's not over what happened the other day, is it? Because I fuckin' warned you, shit, I gave you a pass not to stay."

"It's not about that," I tell him, "It's just my hormones."

Negan's eyes travel down to my stomach. "You're not still pissed over what I said at the doctor's, are you?"

I hate that he's bounced back almost immediately. It's typical; he does or says whatever he wants and then you're just supposed to get over it.

I look off. "No, but I wish you wouldn't have said all those things."

"Oh, come on, baby," Negan chuckles, rolling his eyes, "You overreacted. How the fuck was I supposed to know you'd take that so personally?"

"When I asked you to drop it."

"I don't see what was wrong with what I said," Negan argues, "Dwight did good that day. Sad as shit that Sherry died, but you know, that's what happens when you don't follow the rules. People who don't have to die, die."

"He didn't want Harlan to know."

"And like I said," He gets closer, "Dr. Carson is going to deliver the baby, no matter what. He doesn't have a choice."

I sigh through my nose. That doesn't make me feel any better. "I'm gonna go."

"Really?" He chuckles in disbelief. "You are wound tight, sugar. You need to relax."

"I can't."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because, I'm closed in!" I quietly snap.

"Closed in?" Negan furrows his brows. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Doesn't matter," I shake my head, "It's not a topic up for discussion." I turn and walk towards the door. "I'll let you go pee."

I shut the door behind me. Danica comes from the dining room with a sandwich and sets it on the bar in the drawing room. I go and gather my things. The toilet in the bathroom flushes and the sinks turns on.

"I'm gonna go back to the library," I inform the girls, "I'll see ya at dinner."

"Okay, see ya."

I meet Negan in the hallway as he opens the bathroom door. I look up at him. "I'm gonna go sit in the library, until three."

"How fun," He sarcastically says, "Getting reamed by an acrid librarian."

"Yeah," I head towards the stairwell.

"Jesus," Negan complains under his breath, "Nan!"

"What?" I reply over my shoulder.

He's got his hand on his hip, while the other runs down his mouth in frustration. Negan gruffly exhales. "Alright, let's go." He turns around and goes down the opposite end of the hall.

I stare in bewilderment. Negan walks all the way down, but right when I think he's going to take a left into his bedroom, he goes right and pulls open the door to the stairs that lead to the roof. He looks back at me, expectantly. My eyes go between him and the open door.

"Well?"

"...Um, what?"

"You got five seconds to hustle your pregnant ass up these stairs, or I'm fuckin' closing it."

I move towards the door, knowing that he's serious. I pause a little when I make it over, looking at him with skepticism.

"Stay away from the perimeter." He tells me.

I glance up the stairs to the roof, before treading up the steps. I use the handrail to work my way up, nervous for some reason. The red door is so intimidating. I pull the lever down and give the door a push. I'm instantly met with sunlight. It feels nice, but the air's a little cool. The gravel crunches under my feet as I venture out onto the roof.

I can see everything, or least most everything from where I stand. The trees, the brick buildings, the road that leads out. I'm safe out here, so long as I stay away from the sides, like Negan said. It's too high and the chimneys provide shelter from any bullets. Not that they're here still.

"Fifteen minutes." Negan calls behind me.

I shift my body. "What?"

"You've got fifteen minutes and then you gotta come in."

I smile, "Twenty."

"Fifteen."

"Please."

Negan looks like he's not willing to negotiate.

I lower my eyes. "Fifteen."

He strolls over. "Will you stop bitching about not being able to go outside, if I give you five fuckin' minutes extra?"

My head eagerly lifts and I nod. "Yes."

Negan eyes traipse up and down my figure. "This isn't a thing, Nan. It's just this one time."

"Okay." I say, figuring that it was just that before he told me.

He sighs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Alright. Twenty minutes, but that's it."

My smile returns. "Thank you."

Negan snickers at my apparent uplift in mood. "So, if I give you twenty minutes, will you give me twenty minutes in return?"

I glance to the side for a moment. "I'm coming back for dinner tonight."

"That's not what I meant, but I'll take it." He muses, peering out. "Happy now? You got what you wanted."

I breathe in the fresh air through my nostrils. "I feel like I can breathe," I answer, "I've been feeling shut in lately. It was making me...feel like my back was in a corner."

"Huh," Negan simply responds, observing me, "Would that explain the claws you've had out recently?" I shrug in response and he continues to look at me. "Well, I'm very fuckin' happy to hear that you're feelin' better."

I don't mind that he was being smart, I just continue to enjoy what time I have out here. The skies are blue and the sun is soft and warm. The nippy breeze doesn't even bother me; I welcome the cold against my skin. I don't even care that Negan's behind me. My only wish is that I wish I could I have a chair to sit on as I take in the air.

"Can I have a chair?"

"No, you won't be up here long enough to need one."

I nod. "Okay."

"I'm gonna go," Negan surprisingly relays to me, "I'm fuckin' starving and I gotta sandwich down there with my name on it."

"Alright."

"I'll come get you when your time's up."

"Thanks."

The gravel against his boots fades as he heads in. His causally whistles as he leaves me. Somewhere, among the trees, a bird begins to sing. I hear Negan's whistle echo from inside the stairwell. The bird's song continues, full- throated, while the air brushes against my face. Negan's tune bounces off the walls again.

I gasp and look down. _What?_

* * *

 **Thank you readers for all the support! I hope you enjoy this week's chapter. I know I more than likely have some grammar, or typo errors somewhere in this story and I apologize, but I've only had time to edit the story twice before publishing it and even that doesn't catch everything. I'll slowly but surely work on correcting those mistakes, as I'm a low-key perfectionist lol.**

 **Guest: Lol, I'm sorry you weren't able to find out what Nan's having this chapter, but soon enough. I have been leaving very minute hints, but I may have done a poor job at that, so sorry again! I'm happy you like the story!**

 **CLTex: Yeah, Negan ruined for everyone with his big mouth! He for sure was bashing Dwight, because of what Nan said, but he's not gonna admit to that! Glad you liked Nan's honesty, too. She had to face fears some time.**

 **meredithgrey23: Hooray! I am avid baker and Swedish pastries are my all time favorite to make, probably because I'm also half-Swedish. When I mapped out Nan's past, I figured I might as well put what I love into her.**


	50. Common Ground

I stand, stunned and still as I try to process what I think just happened. What I think I just felt in me. _Oh!_ Yes, there it is again. I put my hand to my belly and not another second passes before it's receives a little kick from the inside of my womb. The baby's kicking. It's moving; it's okay. Tears begin to form, as does a smile on my face. I've been so worried for so long and now it's finally giving me a sign. Just as sudden as it comes, it goes, but I know it's alright. The baby's only giving it a rest. For now, I hope.

My hand still sits on my stomach afterwards. The bird that began to sing fades now and I can no longer hear Negan, which means he's probably back down in the factory. It's all quiet, but I know I'm not alone. I'm not alone for the eighteen or so minutes I have left up here.

I gently sit down on the ground, crossing my legs. I can't take my eyes off my bump, wondering when it'll happen again. I feel like all my fears can be dismissed now. The baby moved! I don't know what I did, or if I had to do anything, but I finally got the baby to move. I feel like a mother now more than ever. The mother to the little being that was just kicking around inside me. A lighter than air excitement whirls around in me, causing me to quietly laugh under my breath.

This puts everything in a new perspective for me. I've known this whole time that I was going to be a mother, but something about it now gives me a better sense of purpose. I want to be a good mother, no; I have to be a good mother. This world requires it. I want my baby to not just be happy, but safe. I want it to live better than we do now.

"Alright," Negan calls behind me, "Time is up!" Has the time passed already?

I briefly glance over my shoulder. "Okay."

I go to pick myself up, but I realize that it's going to prove to be difficult. I guess I haven't sat on the floor or ground since I've gotten bigger and didn't count on not being able to get back up. Negan chuckles in the background, before his boots stride against the gravel. He appears before me in no time.

"Need help?" He offers me his hand.

I accept his help. "Sure." I struggle a little still as I go to stand, wobbling.

"Other hand," He reaches out and I allow him to take it as he pulls me up, "There you go."

I smile, before remember my surroundings and politely slip my hands from his. "Thanks."

"Better?"

"What?"

"Do you feel better now that you've had some fresh air?" Negan asks with a hint of mocking.

"Oh," I nod my head, "Yeah, I..." I look at him and I'm at a loss for words.

"You...what?"

"I..." _Should I tell him?_ I smile. "I feel a lot better."

Negan curiously looks me over. "Is that right?"

"Yes," I tuck some hair behind my ear, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He smiles, furrowing his brows. "Was that sincere gratitude?"

"Yes, it was," I tell him, "I..."

"Spit it the fuck out."

"I appreciate you letting me come up here. I know it was a compromise on your end."

Negan continues to eye me like he's trying to read me. "Well," He says after a second, "Like I said, it was one time thing."

"Okay," I nod, "I guess I should go back inside." I turn and walk towards the open door.

I hear him start to head for the stairs a few seconds later. I quietly go, unsure of what I should do. I almost told him, but I just don't know. In the hall of the top floor, I hear Tonya's boom box playing a soft, yet oddly uplifting song from the drawing room. I pass by, smiling and waving at them as I do.

"Nan?" Negan says my name from the other end of the hall.

I look back as I open the door to the stairwell. "Yes?"

He stares at me, as if contemplating his next words to me. "Never mind. See ya at supper."

I nod again. "Okay."

 **...**

The rest of the workday just flies by. I'm partly on cloud 9 since I felt the baby move. I say partly, because I can't help but have the desire to tell someone that I felt the baby move. I was going to tell Marisol, but another worker lady went to get some hot water for her to put in a hot water bottle for her aching back. Her discomfort is all that seems important for the moment.

"If you want, I can get you an aspirin." I offer.

"No, it's okay," She eases herself down on her mattress, "Quinn's hot water bottle helps a lot."

"Okay," I point to the space next to her, "Mind if I sit?"

"No, go ahead."

I slightly ignore all the looks I get from the other workers, as well as some Saviors, as I sit down. "I'm sorry to hear your back's hurting."

"I imagined having twins was gonna be doubly hard," She groans, "I didn't realize it'd be this painful so soon."

"Can I get you anything?"

"I don't have to pay for food, thanks to you, so don't worry about it. You've done enough."

I smile. "Happy to help."

"So, what did you come by for?"

"Oh, nothing," I tell her, "Just to see how you were."

"Did you go to the doctor's yet?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

I breathe. "Things are good."

"Have you found out what you're having?"

I shake my head. "No, um, the positioning wasn't right."

"Oh, too bad."

"Yeah..."

Marisol's eyes scan my face. "So, what's with the smile?"

"I'm not smiling."

"You kind of are," She chuckles, "You want to explain?"

"I...I felt the baby move earlier today," I reveal, "For the first time."

"Oh, good for you," She smiles at me, though I can see the pain conveyed in her face, "It's weird, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I look down at my hands, "I was worried before. It was weird to feel it moving, but it was also a relief."

"I bet."

Quinn walks back into the quarters. "Alright, I got the water."

"Thank you." Marisol smiles.

Quinn glances at me through the side of her eye as she carefully pours the steaming hot water into the mouth of the water bottle. A lot of workers have been giving me looks lately since the whole mustard incident. The looks are unlike how they've been in the past. They don't seem angry, or judgmental. They seem like they don't know what to think of me, or of themselves, or of the choices made. The compliancy.

"I've got to go," I push myself up from the mattress, "I'm getting hungry."

"Okay, see ya." Marisol winces.

"Get some rest." I add, before flinching a little when I feel a hand on my elbow. My head swiftly turns right to find Quinn awkwardly removing her helping hand.

"Sorry." She barely says.

I don't know what to say, so I say the first thing that exits my mouth. "Okay."

When I'm up on the second floor, I decide to share the news with Hal, before I go up top for dinner. I really hate not living right next to him like I use to. It's strange having to track him down and hope he's home. I know we're cool, but sometimes the distance feels like we aren't as close. The significant others in our lives have sort of helped divide us, although not on purpose. Our priorities have changed, so we've adapted to focus on them. I guess that's what happens when you grow up. He's not alone in his room, I can hear Laura's voice inside, but I don't care. I knock on the door and wait for him to answer. They both stop talking.

"Yeah?" Hal asks from within.

"It's me."

The door opens. "Hey."

"Hi," I smile at him, "You got a minute?"

"Uh," He looks back in the room, "Sure, what's up?"

I smile. "I felt the baby move.

"You did?" His mouth forms a bright smile, "When?"

"Earlier, after lunch." I inform him. Laura's eyes catch my attention, but when I glance her way, she looks off.

Hal chuckles. "How do you know it wasn't just gas?"

I give a light shove. "It was the baby, you jerk."

He grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug. "That's great, love. I'm happy for you."

"Yeah..." I look back in the room and then at him, "Well, I guess I should go. I just wanted to tell you, because... I don't know I just did."

Hal laughs, smiling at my face. "Bloody hell, Nan, you're so giddy."

"I'm not, I'm just..." I look for the words, but I just shyly giggle.

Laura just sits on Hal's bed, waiting for us to finish. I half expected her to roll her eyes, but she doesn't. She just sits with her arms folded on top of her knees, stealing glances at me when she thinks I'm unaware.

"I'm gonna go wash up, before dinner," I tell Hal, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," He nods, "You know, you could dine with us, if you like."

Laura huffs, looking at the back of his head with scorn.

I smile lightly at him. "Thanks, but I told Negan I would have dinner with them."

Oh, yeah?" He gives me a nervous look. "You've been up there a lot lately, huh?"

"Yeah, but just for meals," I assure him, "I want to make sure I'm getting all my vitamins and nutrients. For the baby, that's all."

"Alright."

I scratch my nose ring. "Well, goodnight."

"Night, Anna."

 **...**

The menu for tonight is lasagna. The layers consist of cheese, noodles, and some kind of garlicky red sauce. The rolls smell divine and the workers steamed some green beans. It's all good, but it's also somewhat of a reminder that we were reliant on other communities for our food. The rolls are delicious, but they aren't served with butter. The green beans are probably some of the last few fresh vegetables, before we have to depend on the canned goods. And while the lasagna is not anything I'm complaining about, it doesn't contain meat within any of the layers like it has in the past.

The girls are quiet, but I don't pick up on any tension. They're just eating their meals as contently as they can. The only one that's missing is Amber, but no one conveys that that's a bad thing.

"Isn't Amber eating?" I casually ask after about ten minutes.

"No," Frankie shakes her head, cutting her lasagna with her fork, "She's decided to pass on dinner tonight."

"How come?"

"Um, not hungry, I guess." Frankie's signal over to Negan for the real answer.

I nod my head in response, before glancing over at Negan. "How are things going?"

He looks at me, nonchalant. "Things? You mean the war?"

I shrug. "Yeah."

"We're sitting with our dicks in our hands," Negan replies, "Making repairs and combing this side of Virginia for those ass face Alexandrians."

"Oh," I spear a few green beans on my fork, "Okay."

Negan stops moving his utensils and just looks at me. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

"No follow up questions?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Huh." He continues to look at me, dragging his tongue along the inside of his mouth.

I go back to my food, grabbing my third roll. "So, I was going to knit a pair of booties," I address Frankie, "But I don't know if I'm doing something wrong, or if I'm just hopeless, but I was wondering if you might have the time to teach me?"

"Oh," She looks honored, "I would love to."

"Thanks." I smile, pulling the roll apart and then taking a bite.

"Um, you know a pair of mittens might be nice, too," She adds, "Since it's getting cold."

"Mm," I nod my head, "Yeah, that's a good idea. Do you know how to knit hats?"

"Yeah, sure." Frankie grins.

Hazel chuckles. "God, you're gonna have her knitting a whole outfit if you're not careful."

"That's not a bad idea," Danica chimes in, "I mean, it will be November when Nan gives birth and the baby's gonna need warm clothes."

"The baby needs clothes period," I chew, "I haven't had any luck with the commissary, so if you also wouldn't mind, Frankie, I'd like to borrow your sewing machine."

"Oh, of course," She briefly glances towards Negan, "Um, you're making clothes?"

"I'm going to," I clarify, "I haven't really started anything yet, but I'm not dilly dallying anymore. It needs to be done." I continue to eat, despite catching Negan in the corner of my eye refocus on me.

"Yeah, I'll get it for you before you leave."

"Thank you," I swallow down my food, "I might be able to use Dwight's old clothes, but if not, then-"

"No child of mine is gonna fucking live goddamn rags." Negan finally renters the conversation.

I look over at him, meeting his gaze. "Excuse me?

"You heard me," He slightly grins, "Not a chance in hell. Besides, you cuttin' a bunch clothes up is just a waste."

"They're Dwight's clothes," I say, affronted, "I can do whatever I want with them."

"And when you ruin those?" He raises his brows. "I'm not letting you pick through the fuckin' commissary."

"Okay," I calmly rasp, "What is the baby going to wear then?"

Negan smiles at me and chuckles in his throat, before he returns to eating without an answer. I look back to my plate and bitterly eat as well. I can feel the anger rising up in my throat. There's that tension that the dinner table was missing. He really knows how to kill a good mood. The table's silent, but only for a moment or two. Frankie clears her throat.

"If you want, I can try to make some things."

"Thanks." I murmur.

"Like Dani said; the baby will need something warm when it gets cold out."

"The baby's not going outside." Negan informs us all.

I let my fork fall on my plate and it makes an abrupt clank. I lick my lips, trying my hardest not to lose it. I don't know why he's getting me so worked up in nothing flat, but he is.

Negan continues to smile. "You got something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

I breathe in and then out, before looking over. "The baby's not going outside?"

"Nope."

My nostrils flare as I keep trying to breathe normally. "So, what? The baby's gonna be locked away from the world?"

"'Til shit gets sorted out, you're damn skippy it is."

"And you think you're the only one that gets to make that call?"

Negan chuckles, putting his hand out. "Hi, I'm Negan and I call the fuckin' shots around here."

I huff, "That's not the same."

"It most certainly fucking is," He retorts, "I save people, ergo, I'll be keeping you and the baby alive."

"You can't..." Frustrated, I abruptly rise from my chair, putting my napkin on the table.

"Sit down." He orders.

"I'm going-"

"SIT! DOWN!" Negan booms.

We all flinch and I especially, because I feel a painful kick in my tummy. It's almost as if the baby startled as well as at the loud, thunderous demand. I almost put my hand up at the movement, but I don't. I look at Negan's intense eyes and sit back down in my seat. He watches me with a scowl on his face. I thought it'd be awhile before I felt the baby again, but it's wildly kicking to the point where it's almost debilitating. I try to just breathe without any indication that something's up.

Negan turns his head towards the girls. "Out."

None of them need to be told twice. They all get up, Hazel being the only one who takes her plate, and softly leave the dining room to presumably go to the drawing room, or their rooms. I look up to him when they've all gone. His eyes were always on me.

"Jesus," He exhales, "You are always so goddamn quick to skedaddle when you don't get your fuckin' way."

I don't answer.

"I said the baby wasn't going outside, until shit gets sorted out," He adds, "Until shit's safe. I never fuckin' said it'd be locked away in one of the cells. Did I? Correct me if I'm wrong, darlin'."

I mechanically shake my head.

"Speak up."

"No."

"No, I fuckin' didn't," He confirms, leaning back in his chair, "So, I don't know why you're taking harder than a dick."

"It's not about that." I scoff, incredulous.

"Then what's it about?"

"It's about..." I sigh, touching my tummy, "Never mind."

"No, say it."

"It's about not having a say," I tell him, looking him ardently in the eyes, "I don't always want to be told what's best for my baby. I can make those decisions, too."

Negan's gaze is fixed on me. "I'm good at what I do, Nan, and I-"

"This isn't about being a leader," I groan, "Being a...a parent is different." Negan's slight grin goes and I suddenly feel nauseous, so I stand. "Look, I don't feel good, I have to go."

Negan doesn't object, so I leave him in the dining room. As I make it out into the hall, the baby kicks me and it hurts. I stop by the wall and breathe.

"Shh," I wince, "It's okay."

"Are you alright?" Amber asks me from down the hall, behind the crack of Tonya and Frankie's open door.

"I'm fine," I breathe, before knitting my brows, "What are you-?"

"Nan," Negan enters the hall with a sigh, "Wait a damn..." He trails off when he observes me slightly bent over. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I flatly say, "Night."

"Nan, I-"

"Negan, please, d-"

"I'm sorry."

I pause at the door, arching my brow, and glancing towards him. Negan stands by the opening of the dining room with an earnest expression on his face. I give him a brief nod of my head and then open the door to the stairs and leave. I take a deep breath, before I start down.

 **...**

Later in the night, I crawl in bed and worm my way over to my side. It's amazing that even after washing them, the bed linens still smell like Dwight. Maybe it's just his pillow. I've washed the sheets and the blankets, but not his pillow or pillowcase. I shift my head towards where he'd lay if he were still here.

Despite the painful movements, I'm still ecstatic that my baby's okay. My hand traipses my grooved belly. However, I still feel like something's missing in this moment. I turn on my side and grab his pillow, bringing it to me and holding it tight. I close my eyes as I breath in the faint scent of woody soap and smoke.

The upsetting conclusion of dinner replays in my head as I try to go to sleep. Why does he have to be like that? It's like he recognized that something was different about me, something good, and he had to tear it off of me. Negan says he's looking out for me and the baby, but I don't know.

Some part of me wants to believe that, believe it, or not. I know I must sound out of my mind, but past his asshole taunting, I know he's trying. It's weird and sometimes makes my stomach anxious, but I can see it. So long as I'm carrying this baby, Negan's bent on taking care of us. He just doesn't know how, I think. That I could hear in his apology tonight.

I open my eyes for a moment. Listen to me, justifying the ways of Negan to myself. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. I miss Dwight.

 **...**

The air is getting cooler, but it is barely felt as they drudge through the woods. Hot sweat and dirt breaks through every pore on every body. They began traveling last night when the coast was clear and they haven't stopped since. Exhaustion, as well as grief, keeps them quiet as they journey to the only place that was spared from Negan's wrath.

A woman treads a few steps faster to stop the man ahead of her. "Hey, hold up."

"What?"

"We need to rest for a few minutes."

"We're not far."

"People are tired," She adamantly argues, "We've been walking all day."

The man takes a look around at all the people he's leading to safety. "Fine. Ten minutes, but that's it. I'll go back to cover our tracks."

"I have a question," Another woman not far behind them walks up, "Any reason he's still alive?" They all glance at the man further back.

"The fight ain't over."

"It is for him. He can't help us anymore. We should kill him, I'm done waiting."

The man shakes his head, starting back. "Nah, not yet."

"He's right, " The other woman claims, "He could still have an angle we don't know about that could help us. He wants to help. We can't give that up."

The woman stares at her friend, disappointed and angry that neither her, nor the man with the crossbow agree to end the man who caused each of them misery in one form or another.

"Look, we just lost the kid," The woman adds, "So, let's just take a minute and just stop." She walks past her to catch up with the man.

As the two pass, the scarred man catches a glimpse of the other woman staring at him with scorn. He looks away, as does she, with shame. He knows why she bore that look.

He sits down against a tree, cringing at the pang of the gunshot wound in his arm. He carefully peels back the shred of fabric tied around the wound to make sure it's not getting worse. Despite the blood, it looks alright for now. Hopefully, once they make it to the colony, he'll be given something to properly clean and bandage it with to heal.

In his pocket, he fishes out his pocketknife and the wooden figure he's been working on little by little. It's for his kid. Or, will be anyway. The baby hasn't been born yet, but according to the tally marks he's logged on his arm with the pen he took from the truck before he followed them into the sewers, she should be about seven months now, so it won't be much longer before she gives birth.

The man recalls the last time he saw her. She was angry; she didn't want him to go. She didn't want him to have any part in destroying Alexandria. It felt awful to see the dismay on her face when he pretended to side with Negan on going there. He wished he could tell her the truth, but he couldn't, not yet. Will she be mad when she finds out the truth?

He pauses his carving and reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out the hair tie she left in there when she wore his shirt. He puts it up to his nose and smells it for a minute. It just barely smells like her, or her shampoo, but it's enough. He can remember what she smells like without help from the hair tie. He remembers how her hair smelled like apricots and honey. Hell, he could remember what her hair smelled like before she had that shampoo. Like generic 2-in-1 baby shampoo. That's what a lot of the workers used, because it's what they could afford. It smelt nice, though

And he can remember all ways her skin smelled, too. When he first knew her, she smelled like bread. When they were together, when she was naked, the salty scent of her sweat was intoxicating to breath in. But he most of all, he recalled how she smelled when they slept together in their bed. She slathered that butter from that jar of hers head to toe and when it sunk down and dried into her skin, she smelled like home, if that makes sense. She smelled like a home that could exist when the war is over.

He tucks the hair tie back into his pocket and gets back to whittling. She must look different now, bigger. He hopes that she's okay; safe and healthy. He's worried about her being there without him. If he could go back right now, he would. But there's no way of knowing yet whether or not his words got to Laura and she chose to do the right thing. Until then, the man is anxious. Negan could either be taking decent care of her, or be pressuring her to go back to him with some fucked up ultimatum. It could go both ways; he knows how Negan thinks. It all depends on whether or not Negan knows about his double cross. If it's the former, he hopes that she won't be stubborn enough to turn down the help, but if it's the latter, he hopes they'll be able to end this once and for all and Negan will be dead. Or, if it all goes wrong, then he hopes she makes the right choice. He wouldn't blame her for that.

The man looks up when boots stop in front of him. It's the man with the crossbow. "Get up. We're moving."

As the man stalks off, he bites down the urge to put a bolt through the scarred man's eye. Like he had done to his friend months back. First time she went out in ages and that asshole kills her, aiming for him. Then he treats him like a damn dog back at the Sanctuary. He tried helping him and his wife and that's how he got repaid. He's going to kill him after this is all over. That's how he'll get repaid for what helping them. Eye for an eye.

But what about that girl? He said she was pregnant back in the tunnel. The man holds the strap of his bow as he treads on. He remembers her. She was one of them, but she was different. She fed him real food, despite the risk of getting caught. She wasn't Negan, she said she was to stay alive, but she sure as hell wasn't Negan. Not like the rest of them.

The man also recalls the other thing said in the sewers. That Negan would hurt her in a way that they wouldn't expect, instead of killing her. He shrugs his shoulder. It's just some girl. Why should he care? Plenty of their own were good people and they died anyway. What does it matter if a few of theirs die? But he said Negan might not kill her. So, what then?

 **...**

The autumn air begins to flow through the broken windows. It's better than the alternative, I guess, but everyone is bundling up during the workday, especially if they work outside. I was smart to grab that jacket from the commissary months back. It's good to have even indoors. Come wintertime, we'll have to board up the windows, which unnerves me.

Over the course of three days, my emotions have fluctuated like a yo-yo and I think I know why. The mornings start off really well. I wake up feeling ethereal and lighter than air, despite the twenty pounds I've gained during the pregnancy. The baby moving a few days ago has really put me in good spirits. However, by the time I have to go to work, my mood emotionally and physically dips.

Since I don't have much to do for the majority of my day, I do my usual sitting around, which gives me too much time with my thoughts. Too much time to think about Dwight. Too much time to think about the anger I feel at Negan. Too much time to think about the absence. I've spent a good amount of time crying, too. It's sporadic and I don't know when it'll hit next, but when it does, there's no stopping it. By bedtime, I've tired myself out too much to worry and so I drift off to sleep with a resurgence of the excitement that I know has an element missing from it.

Today, the showers are full, so I have to wait. Which is all as well, because I absentmindedly forgot my towel. On my way, I overhear that couple I use to live by in their room. They seem to be doing well; as far as I know, Rachel has stayed away from Simon, which I think every woman could benefit from, and they've both patched things up.

I go into my room and find a clean towel in the folded pile of the laundry basket. When backing out, I accidentally bump the small end table by the armchair, but just right, so the whole chessboard knocks over.

"Goddamnit." I groan, before setting the towel down on the arm and steadying myself down to pick up the pieces. After I place the table and the board upright, I gather up the individual pieces to put the back in their assigned places. I almost start...but I have to pause to think for a moment.

 _Where do they go?_ Perplexed, I examine the pieces. I...I don't know where they go. I can't just put them anywhere. They all have their own place, that's the way Dwight set it up. I saw him arrange them before. I just...can't remember where he put them. And I can't just put them anywhere.

After a few moments of mental distress, I set them in the armchair. I can't deal with this is right now. Rationally, I know it's silly, but emotionally, I'm not ready to handle it. I walk back to the bathroom, once again hearing that couple behind closed doors. Except, they're not having sex. They're talking.

"It'll be okay," Neal says.

"I just don't want you going out, Neal," Rachel softly replies, "It's dangerous, we don't know where those people are."

"It's not like I have a choice," He chuckles, "Look at you, all concerned for me."

She laughs a little. "Well, you are nice to have around from time to time."

"From time to time?"

"Yeah, well, maybe if you cleaned your own dish-" She stops into a giggle.

"What was that?" He laughs, "What were you about to say? Huh?"

Rachel cackles. "I love you!"

Neal's laughter settles down. "I love you, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," He says, "You're beautiful."

I pick up the pace of my walk back to the bathroom. When I get back there, the showers are all still occupied, some by those who got there before me. I set my towel under my shower stuff and tread over to one of the bathroom stalls. I lock the door and sit down. A deep breath only produces tears.

I cry as quietly as I can, since I'm in public. I tear off some toilet paper from the roll and dab it under my eyes and nose. My face scrunches as I sob. See, that's what I'm missing.

I thought by telling Marisol, or Hal about the baby that that would suffice, but it didn't. It's not their fault. They were happy for me, genuinely, but it didn't fulfill my needs. I even told Lillian yesterday in the library. She, in her cool manner, congratulated me and then went back to her work. She asked if "he" knew and when I told her no, she nodded her head. I caught her staring, studying me when I was putting books away on the shelves. It was eerily astute, but she went back to reading.

I don't want to say they're receptions were not good enough, but...I don't know. I realize that it was only a temporary fix and what I think I need is someone to share this milestone with. Someone who can understand the overwhelming joy that I felt on the roof. Someone who can share the feeling of bringing this life into this world. A life that will exist because of us. I want that person.

A woman knocks on the stall. "You almost done?"

I dry my eyes. "Yeah." I drop the toilet paper in the toilet and flush. I know my eyes will be a little puffy, but who's going to say something? Once I'm in the shower, it won't be obvious anyway. I step out of the stall and go over to the bench to get my stuff. But it's not there.

"Over there." A woman in the showers points to the sinks. "It was in the way."

I nod my head and go to the sinks, relieved that no one stole from me. At first, I don't recognize who's at the sink, but once there; I realize Laura's brushing her teeth. Why is she always here at the same time as me? I guess because it's the morning.

I turn on the sink next to her and run my toothbrush under the faucet. From the mirror, she glances my way. I do the same, before focusing on the running water as I brush my teeth. A few last call tears slip down my face in silence, but I just wipe them away as they fall.

Laura looks over towards the stalls, then spits in the sink and turning the water off. "You okay?" She flatly asks, putting her toothbrush in her caddy.

I peer her way, almost dumbfounded that she's spoken to me. "Um, yeah, I'm fine."

She looks me up and down with a skeptical brow. "Okay." She leaves the sink and heads for the door.

"Laura?"

Laura sighs heavily as she stops in her tracks. "Yeah?"

I stare at her back. "Are you okay?"

She's still for a moment, before she gives me a curt, "Fine," and walks out.

 **...**

"Come on, Reed," I plead with him, "I can be fast!"

"And I could be dead, if you get caught." He retorts, trudging through the factory.

"So, I won't get caught," I've been trying to convince him to let me go out to the coops to get some eggs for myself, "And even if I do, I'll just tell him that I did it of my volition and you had no clue."

"That doesn't mean shit," Reed rolls his eyes, "He specifically told me that you were not, under any circumstances, permitted to go outside. For your own safety."

"Oh, come," I jog a little to keep up with him, "There's armed guards out there! I'll be fine!"

"You want eggs, have them bring 'em to you."

"They're not as gentle. By time they bring them up to my room, some of the eggs have cracks already."

"Sorry, Nan. Rules are rules."

I take Reed's arm to stop him. "I haven't been outside for weeks," I tell him, half-lying, "I'm suffocating in here."

"Most of our windows are shot out," He looks me over, "There's plenty of air circulation."

"It's not the same," I beseech, "I just...want to feel the sun on my skin and pick out my own eggs. I know that's hard to get, but please, that's all I want."

Reed bites his lips, thinking it over. He glances down at his watch and exhales. "Alright, look...you have minutes."

I smile. "Thank you."

"Hey," He halts me for a minute, "Five minutes. If you aren't back inside this factory by then, hell, if you're two seconds late, I'll start locking you in my fucking office during the day. Got it?"

"Yeah," I nod my head, "Five minutes."

"Well, go! Time started already."

I hurry over to the door to that leads to the coops. I stand in the doorway once there, a little nervous. The workers and the Saviors don't pay me any mind, so I step out and causally walk over to the chickens in their laying nests. I gingerly stick my hand underneath one hen and feel around for eggs. She doesn't fluster, or balk at my intrusion. My hand closes around an egg and I gently pull it out. I take the soft, muslin rag I brought from my back pocket and clean the egg real quick and then leave it there.

I then reach back under and take a few more eggs. When I've collected six eggs, I tie the rag into a little bag around the eggs. I glance over at the workers and the guards, who have by now taken notice of me. They all look bewildered, but if I act like I've been caught, then I have been.

"Afternoon." I say.

"Afternoon," One of the guards awkwardly greet back, shrugging to the other guard.

I turn around and go back inside the factory. They aren't going to say anything. As far as they know, I was given permission from Negan to be out there. I make sure that Reed sees me, so he can stop sweating. I'll take the eggs back to my room and then maybe take a short nap.

A loud, sudden boom hits the floor, making me jump. I turn my gaze to the left to see what made the noise. Just some Savior who dropped a heavy looking box. While watching him pick the box up, I collide into someone.

"Sorry," My head moves forward, "I..." I cut myself off, when I see that it's him.

"Good afternoon," Negan smiles, "How are you this fine day?"

"I'm okay." I rasp. _Are you kidding me?_

"You haven't dined with us in a few days," He says, "Are you eating okay?"

"Yes," I nod, clutching the knot of the rag, "Um, I was just about to go make something now, so..."

"What are you in a hurry?" Negan glances down at what's in my hand.

"Well, I'm pretty hungry." I answer, trying to move past him.

He stops me. "What's in the rag?"

"Eggs."

"Don't I send someone to bring you eggs when you need 'em?"

"Well, I haven't needed them in a while, because I was eating with you," I tell him, "But I'm out now, so I...needed them."

"You had one of the workers get you a couple?" He inquires.

I meekly nod my head.

Negan eyes sharpen. "You had the one of the workers get you a couple of eggs, right?"

"Right." I murmur.

He steps a little closer. "You didn't go out there and get 'em yourself, right?"

"Right."

"No? You didn't take advantage of the kindness I extended to you the other day and think you could slip out and back in without me knowing?" I'm quiet. "Right?"

"...Right."

He examines me from head to toe. "So, if I go out and there and ask, they'll back you up?"

I know he has me there and so does he. I can't put anyone in that position. I lower my eyes and cloth my mouth, wanting to kick myself.

"Did you go outside, Nan?"

I look up at him. "I was out there for less than five minutes."

Negan's face is anything but pleased. Despite the calmness, I know he's fuming. "If I were you," He says, "I'd start walking towards the stairs, before I fucking drag you."

I move cautiously around him and head for the stairs. Fuck. I know he's not far behind me and the tension is thick. My legs feel like they weigh a ton each as I tread up the stairs. His steps are harder, which only increases my nerves. Walking through the halls feels like I'm about to meet the electric chair. Or Lucille. I go up to my door to open it.

"Nope," He denies behind me, "Keep going."

I turn a little, bewildered. "To the top?"

"To the top." He sternly confirms. I swallow the lump in my throat and keep going.

By time we make it to the top floor in heavy silence, my legs are like noodles and if I don't sit down soon, I'm gonna drop. I lean my hand against the wall to catch my breath. When Negan comes up to the side of me, his eyes motion for the room at the end of the hall. I go down the hall and wait for him to open the door.

We go inside and the rumbling sound of the door closing against the other intimidates me. I'm glad the chair I normally sit in is both soft and firm. My back is killing me.

"Water?" He asks.

I look over at him as I'm catching my breath. "Please."

He puts his hand out towards the table that already has a glass pitcher and four smooth glasses. "It ain't gonna pour itself."

I lean forward and pour myself some water. I gulp it down as politely as possible.

"I asked you not to go outside the factory," Negan speaks, "Because it could be dangerous."

I set the glass down on the table. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He chuckles. "Sorry for what? Disobeying me, or for pulling my dick when you said you'd settle down, if I let you out for twenty minutes?"

"Both."

"How about undermining my authority in front of my people?"

I breathe out. "I'm sorry for that, too."

Negan sits down on the leather sofa, eyes fixed on me with a smirk on his face. "You're sorry?"

I nod my head, feeling tears surfacing.

He snickers. "Are you gonna cry now?"

"No." I lie.

"That's not what the forecast is saying," He humors, "So, what, darlin'? You get caught breaking the rules and you think can just say you're sorry and sprinkle it with a little tears?"

I shake my head, wiping my tears. "I'm not trying to get out of trouble."

"Good, because you are damn well in trouble," Negan tersely informs me, "All that's left now is to figure out how to punish you."

I glance across the table at him. He smiles and I know in someway that he's pulling my leg. If I am punished it's not anything major.

He exclaims at an idea and his grin grows. "I've got it," He stands up, "I want you to play me a song on the piano in there."

I scowl. "I can't."

"Of course you fuckin' can, "Negan argues, "You're a natural."

"Not since my fingers were broken," I sniff, "They jam up."

"Well, you can go ahead and give it a try anyway," He insists, walking around the table for the door, "I didn't say you had to be good, I said I wanted..." He trails off when I snivel into tears.

I couldn't help it. It's not even about the piano, or about getting in trouble. Like I said, once it starts, there's no stopping it. I put my hands up to my face to conceal my bawling. I hear him groan to the left of me.

"Nan..." He exhales again, "Look, I'm just fuckin' with you. You don't have to play the piano."

"It's not that!" I cry.

I feel his legs brush against mine as he sits down on the table in front of me. "I asked you not to go outside." I cry a little harder and his hand touches my knee. "It's not like I'm doing it to be an asshole. It's to keep you and the baby safe and if you don't like then, I'm sorry, but that's too damn bad. "

"It's not that either." I muffle as I sob in my hands.

"Then what is it?"

"It's just hormones."

He sighs, frustrated. "C'mon, Nan, cut the shit."

I lower my hands and look at him with blurry vision. "What do you think?"

Negan scans my face, before lowering his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. "You fuckin' exhaust me."

"Same." I clear my throat.

He chuckles, looking back up. "Trust me, honey, you are definitely fuckin' worse."

I huff. "You're not the one crying."

Negan laughs under his breath and I, oddly enough, do a little as well. He breaks from the humor with a sigh. "Listen, I'm...sorry if I snapped at you the other night."

"If?"

He rolls his eyes. "Jesus, I'm sorry _that_ I snapped at you the other night."

"You already apologized for that," I remind him, "And you ruined dinner before that."

Negan's brows furrow at me. "What?"

"We were having a nice time," I say, fiddling with the topknot on the rag of eggs in my lap, "We were talking about the baby and then you just..." My eyes find his. "It wasn't about the clothes, or going outside. I mean, I was angry, but I was more angry that you just took over the conversation and told me I had no say in raising my child."

"I didn't fuckin' say that."

"You said you call the shots around here," I retort, "And we both know you meant the baby, too, so don't lie."

He sticks his tongue in his cheek, trying to hold back how nettled he is, before standing up.

"You said you wanted to help me," I continue, as he aimlessly paces, "And I said I would consider it and I have."

He scoffs under his breath in response.

"And I...I want your help," My words cause his head to turn in the direction of my honest eyes, "I want your help, but I also want to have a voice in how my child is raised." I look away, feeling thoughts flood my brain. "I...I want to be a mother, not a nanny."

Negan's eyes blink away from mine, but not as if he didn't hear me.

"I know that you know how to...save people and to keep them safe," I keep going, since he hasn't stopped me yet, "And I believe that you can do that. But raising kids is different."

He huffs into an acrid smile. "Kids need direction. Otherwise they just grow up to be assholes."

I move away a tear that's resting on my cheek. "Yeah, but they also need patience and understanding. Take it from me."

Negan exhales gruffly. "Well, damn. Is that why you're so screwed up?" He lets out a throaty chuckle. "Lack of patience and understanding?"

I sigh, rising from my seat. "I'm willing to compromise with you on some things, Negan. Can you at least try to do the same for me?"

He looks me over. Compromising isn't really how he does things. "What like some common ground?"

"Yes," I nod, "We won't agree on everything, but that doesn't mean we can't work...together."

Negan's eyes transfix on mine. It's like my words are a pair of bells. "You want to work together?"

"Yes."

"To raise the baby?" He strolls over my way. " _Our_ baby?"

I run my finger over the skin around my thumb. There's only two other people beside myself that would have the same amount of ardor and connection to this baby. And one of them is dead. I nod my head, meeting his eyes. "Yes, I want to work together with you to raise the baby."

Negan's grin extends to his eyes. "Well, ho-ly shit. This is terrific news. The kind that tickle my balls."

I put my hand out. "Shake on it."

He briefly flickers to my hand. "Pardon me?"

"You're word means nothing, unless you shake on it," I flatly reply, "Shake on it."

Negan chuckles, before he meets his hand with mine, giving it a firm shake.

"To common ground," I stare at him, "Say it."

He grins, but relents. "Alright, to common ground," He agrees, while still holding onto my hand, "But...you do as I say as it regards the rules and safety. No ifs, ands, or buts."

I stubbornly inhale.

His eyes grow more serious, more vehement. "The rules still apply to you, same as they do for anyone else around here. I can't let shit slide, because you're pregnant. The rules only work if everyone is subject to the consequences."

I lower my eyes, exhaling. I nod, "Okay."

"Atta girl." He praises, shaking my hand again, before releasing it.

I take back my hand and wiggle my nose, sniffing up to hold back the leftover runniness. "Thank you."

"Well, you're a shrewd business woman, but it was pleasure doing business with you." He snickers.

Like most interactions with Negan, I feel drained afterwards. "Well, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go lie down for a bit."

"Sure, darlin'," Negan smiles, motioning towards the door, "You and the baby get some rest and I can trust I'll see you at dinner?"

"Yeah." I meekly rasp, walking to the door.

"Fan-fuckin'-tastic."

I scratch at my thumb, despite feeling relatively alright with our agreement. I wish Dwight were here, so I wouldn't have to make a deal with Negan, but since he's not, I have to. I mean, I don't have to have to, but I want what's best for my baby. Dwight once told me that I should consider accepting help from Negan, if things were going to become scarce or uncertain. I'd like to think that he would want me to do this. Even if it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

From the corner of my eye, I see him sit down on his bed, reclining backwords with his arms behind his head, satisfied. He lets out his signature whistle. I stop at the door, glancing down at my tummy. _It can't be_.

"What?" He asks, "You got something to add?"

I shift my body back around and look at him.

He knits his brows. "What?"

I put my hand to my stomach and it makes him sit up. "The baby's kicking."

Negan's expression subsides. He stares at me, then down at my pregnancy, and then back at me. "What?"

"The baby's kicking." I repeat.

He gets up from the bed. I stand still as I observe his movement as he approaches. Negan towers over me, glancing down at the curve of my belly. Both hands just barely touch my tummy, before his fingers draw back. I find hesitation in his body language, which is surprising. I almost winced at the expectation of him coming over and just putting his hands on my stomach without asking. It seemed like something he would do. His eyes flicker to mine and I count to five in my head, before I reach over and take his hand in mine. I place it where the baby still continues to kick. Negan eyes search as he waits for movement.

"Can you feel it?" I ask him.

Negan breaks out in a smile. "Yeah, I can. Holy shit."

I can't help but let a little smile inch across my face. The baby stops kicking after a few more seconds. His smile eases as he becomes aware of that, but it doesn't go away. He finally looks back up at me and I offer him a little more of my smile. Negan smiles wide and it looks breathtaking. Not my breath, but his. Like he was blown away. It puts a weight in me that inclines my lungs.

"Goddamn," He finally says, "That is something else."

I shyly lower my eyes, taking my hand off his and taking a half a step back. "Yeah, it is."

Negan studies my demeanor. "Thanks for that."

Puzzling my brows, I gaze up at him. "What?"

"For letting me cop a feel," He chuckles huskily, before his grin settles, "You could've just kept it to yourself. I know I'm not always your favorite person, or who you likely wanted to share that with."

I open my mouth to speak, but I hesitate at a moment's notice. "Well...it was nothing."

I don't have it in me to tell him it's not the first time. What purpose would that serve except to disappoint him? I know Negan's the guy who could really stand for a good kick in the shorts, but I...I can't. It'd be petty and it wouldn't make me feel as good as I would want it to.

"It wasn't nothing," He claims, "And I appreciate it."

I nod my head. "Sure."

"Makes shit seem ten times realer than before, huh?"

I lightly snicker. "Yeah, it does." His eyes causes that weight in me again. I rub the back of my arm. "Well, I'm gonna go lie down now."

Negan takes a prideful inhale and an exalted exhale with a smile. "Alright, I'll see you tonight, mama bear."

I blandly smile and then promptly exit. As I close the door behind me, I hear a taken back "Goddamn" coming from his room. I breathe in and out, sitting my hand down on my pregnant belly. I glance down at it, giving it a comforting pat, before carrying on. It'll be okay.

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy this week's installment! Thanks for all your support, y'all are great!**

 **CLTex: Glad you like Nan's time with the wives is enjoyable to see, as well as Negan's niceties. Yeah, that mustard was not just gonna go unnoticed lol.**

 **StTudnoBright: Yeah, I like Lillian's maternal tone with Nan, too. I think Nan likes it more than she knows. I hope Nan's pov in the chapter may have given some ideas on the odd looks from the workers.**

 **Guest: Lol, yeah, Laura really did have the gall to slap a pregnant lady. Hey, she's a Savior, she's use to using her hands instead of her words.**


	51. Lifegiver

_All the dead are gone. The snarling and choked growls have vanished from earshot. I look around, puzzled. A minute ago, this place was surrounded by those straggling things and now Charlie and I are completely alone. Charlie...he's lying under that tablecloth I got from the cabin that's no longer on fire._

 _I turn around to see him, but the cloth lies flat on the ground of the woods. I furrow my brows at this site, before my eyes scan around for any signs of him. The grave I dug looks deep, even from here. Wait, what? A hand is at the width of the grave._

 _"Charlie?" I cautiously approach, shovel in hand. "Charlie?" I get close enough to the edge to peer in. There he is. He looks up and smiles. "Wh-what are you doing?"_

 _"Well," He exhales, out of breath, "I'm trying to ease on in, but I'm a little short-handed."_

 _"Stop laughing," I snap immediately at his breathy chuckling, "It's not funny."_

 _"It's a little funny," Charlie says, "Would you mind taking my hand?"_

 _"You want me to pull you up?" I ask as I get down on my knees._

 _"No, I was hoping you'd help lower me down."_

 _I'm crushed by his honest answer. "Have you lost your mind?"_

 _"C'mon, Anna," He goads, "I'm dead and you dug this grave for me."_

 _"I know, but..." I put my hand on his._

 _"Why dig a grave, if you don't intend to bury anything?"_

 _I stare at him, mouth slightly open. "I..."_

 _I don't know what to say. He's right; I did dig this grave. So, why am I so uneasy that he's trying to lie down and rest? Isn't that what I did this for?_

 _"Let go," Charlie calmly tells me, "You can't emerge, if you don't."_

 _"Emerge?" I question, confounded, "Charlie, I don't-"_

 _"You have to move on from here," He cuts me off, "Save yourself and let go."_

 _We look at each other, both differently intense. I open my mouth to speak, but a familiar whistle breezes into the air. I look up, panicked, but see nothing and nobody._

 _"Charlie..."_

 _"Move on from here," He repeats, which causes me to look back to his strong eyes, "Move on."_

 **...**

I move out of my sleep like usual this morning. I'm officially seven and half months pregnant today. I mark the day with an "X" on the hand drawn calendar that Harlan made for me months ago. I wash up a little from the sink, before taking my vitamins and getting dressed.

It's starting to get a little nippier in the factory, so after I slide a t-shirt over my belly, I use one of his flannels as a cardigan and then my jacket. I pretend to ignore the pile of chess pieces that rest in the armchair, because it still bothers me that they aren't where they're supposed to be. I know it's silly and I hate that I'm being like this, but I can't handle it.

I leave the room and head for the upstairs apartment where Negan and the wives are probably about to sit down for breakfast. I don't really feel too hungry this morning, but I'll go anyway. There's more than likely going to be oatmeal on the table, so I might be able to get a couple bland spoonfuls in. If not, then this nagging voice in my head will guilt trip me for not feeding myself to feed my baby.

When I get to the top, the first thing I hear is the shower going from the stairwell. From the sound of things in the halls, Negan must be the one in the bathroom, because the girls are all talking. I enter the dining room and find them all, except Amber. That makes me a little uneasy. _What if they're in the shower together?_

"Morning."

I look up from my thoughts at Danica. "Good morning."

"How did you sleep?"

"Okay." I answer, sitting down at the place that's always set for me. I make myself a bowl of oatmeal and throw some dates on it, because I've been a little constipated the last three days. I've also been eating a spoonful of olive oil every morning, but so far nothing. "So...Where's Amber?"

"In the shower."

I nod my head. "And where's Negan?"

"In his room."

"Oh." I stir my breakfast, before I take a bite. The shower stops a few minutes later. "Is everything alright with Amber?"

"What do you mean?" Tonya asks.

"She just seems...I don't know, upset lately."

"She's just moody," She dismissively replies, "You know how she is."

The bathroom door opens and Amber pads into the dining room shortly after. She stops when she sees me, then turns around and leaves. I listen to the sound of her footsteps. When they don't stop where they should, I listen more closely as they tread a little further down the hall. She opens a door and shuts it.

I glance over my shoulder and then look at the wives in question. "Did she go into another bedroom?"

"She's probably borrowing my comb." Frankie smiles at me.

"Oh...okay." _That seemed fishy_. I go to ask something else, but Negan's double doors rumbling as one opens stop me.

"Good morning!" Negan practically sings.

"Good morning." We all say in varied unison.

He looks at me with a grin on his face. "And how are _you_ this fine morning, mama bear?"

"I'm fine." I bashfully peer into my oatmeal. The girls don't really pay any mind to his half-sarcastic, endearing words to me, but it's still embarrassing.

"Jesus," He chuckles down at my curved belly, "You are fuckin' huge."

"Seven and a half months." I murmur.

Negan smiles wider. "Won't be long now, 'til the timer goes off on that bun."

"Yeah."

"Have you seen the doctor since your last visit?" Danica asks me.

"No, I haven't." I answer.

"Have you given any thoughts about where you want to have the baby?"

I furrow my brows, bewildered. "What?"

She shrugs. "Well, there's a bed in the infirmary now. You could have the baby there, if you wanted to."

"Oh..." I spy Negan from the corner of my eye, "Well, that priest is there. I don't want him to have to be moved, if he's not well enough."

"So, then you want to give birth at home...or, you know, in your bed?"

"I..." I shrug my shoulders, lightly shaking my head, "I haven't really thought about it."

I haven't thought about it. To be honest, I haven't really given labor and delivery any thought. I think I just figured that when it came time to have the baby, I would just go where I was told to by the doctor. I never thought about having options, let alone making that choice myself, because of Negan. Why not? I'm the one having the baby.

"I think...I think maybe I'd like to be in bed," I softly proclaim, "That bed in the infirmary is small and narrow and I think it'll more comfortable to be in a bed that's more spacious." I feel him look back up at me. "And besides, it's not like I need to be in the infirmary, right? I'm not going to be hooked up to anything, so Harlan can just bring what he needs to me." I glance over to Negan, whose fork has paused at my words. "Unless...you can think of a reason why I need to be in the infirmary."

Negan's smile forms, before he shrugs. "Nope, sounds good to me."

I nod lightly. I know we made a deal to work together, but I still half expected him to authoritatively tell me where I would be having the baby. I guess maybe he's trying to prove that he can work with me and is taking our agreement seriously.

"Have you thought about names?" Hazel inquires with a hopeful smile.

"No." I politely smile back, before putting my spoon down in my bowl. "Well, I should get going."

"Hazel," Frankie scolds under her breath, "See what you did?"

"No, it's fine, " I assure her, "Really, I just have to get to work."

"Well, look at you," Negan marvels, "Belly the size of a beach ball and you're still eager as a beaver to get to work. That's my girl."

I offer a small smile and start to leave, digging at my thumb.

 **...**

The factory floor is ten times colder than the top. I bounce my knees in Reed's office to try to warm myself as I do this crossword puzzle. Reed's been in and out all day, not really happy with me at the moment. He didn't get blamed for me going out to the coops, but he saw Negan march me up the stairs and figured he found out.

The agreement that Negan and I shook on whirls around in my head while I sit here. It's not the ideal choice I wanted to make. I remember a few months ago when I was crying on Dwight's shoulder when I learned that there was a better chance of Negan being the father than I wanted to believe. I didn't want me, or my child to be tethered to him. But now, I have limited options. I could raise this baby alone, but that would mean cutting off the resources I'm getting from him, which would be more for my baby than myself. I hate to be put in this position, but I have to think about what's best and, unfortunately, Negan can and wants to provide for us.

"Hey," Reed pokes his head in, "There's a fight going on in the front quarters. Go break it up."

I scoff, looking at him from where my chair. "Why can't you do it?"

"Because you're in charge of all worker related matters, remember?"

"Yeah, but I'm pregnant," I argue, motioning down to my stomach, "I'm not gonna get between two people fighting."

"Well, it's not so much a fight as it is a beat down," Reed replies, "And you will go break it up, because that's your job and because I don't want to have to chain another worker to the fences."

I groan under my breath, "Alright," I wince a little as I get up, because my back's been aching again, "I'll go."

When I leave the office, I can immediately hear the commotion. I walk as fast as I can over towards the front of the factory, or at least to the beginning of where the partitions start. A Savior has a worker by the shirt, before he decks him across the face. The worker drops to the ground, which only makes it easier for the Savior to kick him.

"Hey!" I shout, pushing through the small crowd. "Hey! Stop!" I grab the Savior's arm to pull him back.

The guy rears back, as if to strike, but holds off when he gets a look at me. He gives me a glance over, huffing since he's out of breath. I look down at the worker, whose eye is already swelling.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Nothing that concerns you." The Savior replies with a scoff.

I glance over at him with my brow half raised. "Really? Because I'm in charge of all worker matters and this seems to be just that."

He knits his brows, a little taken back by my brazenness. He rubs his red knuckles. "Well...if you must know, I need this asswipe's boots and he refused to give 'em to me."

I stare at him incredulously. "So?"

"So, you earn what you take." He cockily smiles.

"Well," I look down at the worker's feet, "He's still got them on, which must mean you haven't taken them yet."

"No." He agrees.

"So, you haven't earned them."

"Not yet," The Savior informs me, "I wanted to teach this prick to have a little respect."

I sigh as he laughs, glancing back to the worker who's looking at me. "He's a mechanic."

"Good for him," The Savior scoffs, "But I don't give a flying fuck what he is, my boots have holes in 'em and I need a new pair."

I poke my tongue in my cheek, before returning my eyes to him. "Mechanics have to have shoes in the yard," I dryly remind him, "You can't take his boots, he needs them to work."

"Yeah, well so do I," He counters, "And my job is way more fuckin' important than his. He can get another pair."

"Or you can." I retort.

The Savior, whose name I can't remember, laughs in my face. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

I exhale, prepared for a whore comment in the near future. "Wouldn't it be easier to go to the commissary and look? You don't have to pay for shoes, he does."

"That's not my fucking problem!" He shouts at me. "Besides, I don't want to go look in the damn commissary, I want _his_ boots."

I cross my arms and breath. "Well...you can't have them."

"Excuse me?" He growls in disbelief.

"You can't have his boots, he needs them to do his job," I adamantly clarify, "If you need new boots, go find some somewhere else."

The Saviors looks me over, licking his bottom lip. He nods. "Okay," A smirk tips up in the corner of his mouth, "Okay, whatever you say, honey." He turns his head to the side, locking eyes with a worker a few spaces down. "You," He points, "What size shoe do you wear?"

"Size twelve." The worker answers.

"And what do you for points?"

"I'm a janitor."

"Perfecto," He smiles, before snapping his fingers, "Take 'em off."

"Wait, no, I-"

"Ah, ah, ah!," The Savior interrupts putting his hand up to quiet me, "You said elsewhere."

"I didn't mean-"

"I earn what I take," He bluntly says, "That's my right, those are the rules. So, why don't you back the fuck off?"

I scratch the skin around my thumb as I stare back at him. Anger rises up in me and I can feel the hotness cloud my cheeks.

"What?" The Saviors chuckles, raising his brows. "You think because you're the boss' favorite gash, you can just change how shit works around here?" There it is. "Did daddy give you permission?"

By now, people are starting to stare. My eyes flicker downward and then over to the worker. "Sorry," I say to him, "But those are the rules."

The worker nods his head and crouches down to take off his shoes. The Savior arrogantly strolls over and takes the boots from the worker once they're off him.

"Thank you," He snickers, then looks back to me one more time, "We do a lot for these people."

I stare at him, eyes fuming.

He scoffs, amused. "Taking off their boots is the least they can do." He stalks off with the boots in his hand, whistling that eerie whistle.

Being unable to stop him infuriates me. I can't even look back at the barefoot worker, because I'm so ashamed. I walk away from the quarters and towards the stairs.

"Nan!" Reed calls out.

I sigh, annoyed. "What?"

"I need you to take these to Negan." He hands me the book that Arat uses to take stock of all the arms.

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now," He snaps, "He wanted a report on loss and inventory sent up to the meeting room."

I nod my head, inwardly groaning. "Yeah, okay."

On my way there, I quickly scan through the logs. It looks like we've taken a huge loss since the fighting broke out. Not just what we've used, but what we've lost when we were trapped inside the factory and Rick and his people attacked and raided the outposts. This is not going to go over well with Negan, which is probably why Reed sent me instead.

I knock on the door after I hear his voice talking in the room. He pauses. "Yeah?"

"I have the report on the armory." I sheepishly answer.

"Come in."

I open the door, finding Gary, Keller, and three other Saviors standing in the room. You can tell they aren't here to discuss business with Negan, because they aren't sitting, or more specifically weren't asked to sit down with Negan. They must be here for some orders.

"Afternoon." Negan smiles with his feet up on the table.

I walk over to him, extending the logs. "Here."

"Thank you, sweetheart." Negan accepts the list in one hand and puts his other on the small of my back. I stifle a cringe. He does it on purpose. I start to leave, when his hand quickly, but softly catches my wrist. "Where you runnin' off to?"

"To my room," I let him know, "To eat."

His smile picks up, before he lets me go without a word. I exit the room, closing it behind me. "Go take down the blockades." He orders the men left in the room. He says something else, but by then I'm too far away.

I make it to my room and sit down on my bed, letting my head rest in my hands. _Keep_ _calm_. I shut my eyes for a minute; breathing in and out in what I think will be therapeutic. _In...and out. In...and out_. Next, I count to five in my head. _One-two-three-four-five_.

I stand up. Okay, I'm okay. I fish out a can of soup from my crate of canned goods and let it heat up on the camp stove. I pace calmly while I wait for my soup, thinking about what happened in the quarters. I hate that I couldn't stop that asshole from stealing those boots. I want so badly to make this right, but how? This isn't like the mustard incident, not all shoes look the same. I sit down on my trunk and sigh, irritable.

I wish that wasn't a rule. You earn what you take? Bullshit. There's no pride, or strength in stealing from the weak. The Saviors take, because everyone was afraid of them up until now. If anyone tried to fight back, they'd be pulverized, or killed. Sadly, the people in here are still afraid of them, unlike those out there.

It's getting a little warm for me, considering how angry I'm getting, so I shrug off my jacket. I walk over to the closet for a hanger to put it up with. As I hang up my jacket, my eyes catch sight of a pair of boots on the floor of the small closet. I forgot Dwight had those. They're just a pair of plain old boots than I can't recall when I saw him where them last. The ones he left with were the pair I had always seen. These look a little beaten up.

I grab them up and inspect them. There are some small holes, but none that I can see on the soles, or that would be a hindrance to whomever wore them. I bite the corner of my lip. These are technically Dwight's, but...it's not like he need them. Is it silly to want to hold onto them, strictly because they use to belong to him? _Let go._ I check inside the tongue. What's the size?

 **...**

Dinner is surprisingly pleasant so far, but I have my doubts that it will remain that way, as usual. Negan is fairly quiet, but not tense, or irritable. The wives chat like normal; careful not to say anything that might invite a response from Negan. None of them have ever really enjoyed conversing with him. Whenever he randomly chimes in, you just see them tighten up. It's like walking on ice; instantly but calmly halting at the sound of even the smallest of cracks.

I can't say that I blame them though. It's not fun being Negan's non-violent source of amusement. You're either being screwed, mocked, or snapped at. Come to think of it, I don't think Negan really has actual conversations with his people. It always seems to be him talking at them, not to them. The Saviors, from what I've seen, don't nervously fumble with their words, except for Fat Joey when he was still alive, but they also don't talk candidly with Negan like people do.

"Are you okay, Nan?" Hazel asks.

I nod my head. "Yeah, I'm fine. My back's just aching a little."

"Do you want an aspirin?"

"No, thank you," I smile through the discomfort, "I already took one before I came up here."

"It doesn't work?"

"It does, but only a little."

"I know some massages that could help, if you want," Frankie offers, "I mean, it might be hard, because you can't lie on your stomach, but it's worth a shot, right?"

"I don't know." I poke around my plate at the small potatoes.

A radio faintly crackles in Negan's room across the hall. He groans, getting up and going to his room to fetch the radio. We all watch him exit, either for no reason, or out of curiosity.

"You could take a warm bath," Hazel suggests, "I've got some bath salts for aching muscles you could use."

I shift my upper half again. "Oh, I don't have a tub."

"Use the one up here," She offers, pointing, "We could send for hot water."

"Um...o-okay." I relent, trying to be polite. I know they worry that I think they're only being nice to me because Negan put them up to it.

After dinner, Hazel radios for hot water to be brought up to the top floor for a bath. I impatiently wait in the drawing room, attempting to conceal myself by the piano from the workers. I don't want them to know it's me they're having to do such a grueling chore for. I have got to stop eating up here. Every time is either plagued with a million questions, Negan jading someone, or me staying longer than I attended.

Speaking of Negan, he didn't come back to the table after that radio call. He raised his voice to whoever was talking to him; demanding that they "get it done." He then closed his door to be alone, I suspect. No one in the dining room wondered what was going on. Well, except me, but only inwardly.

When the bath is ready, I go into the bathroom where a towel and washcloth are neatly left out for me, along with a bar of soap. I step into the tub; wanting to melt at how nice the water feels. Stream curls up, making my face dewily perspire. I ease down into the water, already knowing what benefits this basil and mint scented water will yield to my aching back.

I'll soak a while, then wash up. I'm tempted to close my eyes as I lean my head back, but I'm afraid I'll fall asleep and be lectured again about how dangerous it is. The pain starts to alleviate quickly. If only I had some tea and a book. But, just sitting back and relaxing is good, too.

My thoughts can't help but shift to Dwight. I know he's dead and I have to let go and accept that, but remembering how he heated up some water for me so that I could bathe keeps strolling in my brain. He was such a kind person. I know it didn't always seem that way, but D was good. He was so attentive and just did for me without my asking. He was steadfast, and honest, and caring. All the bad he did seems so minute to me now. Maybe it's because he's gone, or maybe it's because I-

Someone knocks on the door, snapping me out of focus. I stare at the door. "Yes?"

"I gotta drain the hose."

I roll my eyes. "It's open."

Negan enters a second later. I cover my breasts with the washcloth and bring my legs up as much as I can. My belly covers most of the downstairs under the water.

He grins as he walks by. "Relaxed yet?" As he passes the tub, he dips his fingers in the surface and flickers the water at me.

I use one hand to wipe my face. "Just hurry up."

Negan chuckles. "How's your back?"

"Better," I tell him, rolling my eyes again when I hear his stream hit the toilet bowl, "The water's helping."

"Good, good," He answers behind me, "Feel free to use the tub anytime. I don't mind."

"I'm sure you don't." I mutter under my breath, knowing that he's smiled at his own words. "How come you didn't come back to dinner?"

"Got some unpleasant news," Negan relays, "I know you think I'm an asshole at the dinner table, so I sat it out in my room."

"Oh," I nod my head, "What was the news?"

"Gavin wasn't at his outpost," He flushes the toilet, "Neither were the guys I sent with him."

"Maybe they were at the Kingdom," I observe him go to the sink to wash his hands, "Aren't they suppose to maintain them, or something?"

"Yeah, but he should've got word back by now."

"Well, maybe the woods are too thick, or they're out of bounds."

"That could be." He vaguely agrees, drying his hands on a towel.

"You sent people out?"

"Yeah, to take down the blockades and to see where the hell he's at," Negan turns to look at me and I cover up more, which humors him, "No need to be bashful, baby; I've already seen every inch of you."

"Get out, please."

"You need the water to be warmed up some more?"

"No." I shake my head. My limbs move through the cool water. I sigh, "I'm actually getting out." I carefully use both sides of the tub to rise out of the tub.

Negan picks up the towel and unfolds it, spreading it out in his arms. "Here."

"That's okay," I put my hand out for the towel, "I've got it."

His eyes travel down, but his face doesn't convey that a dirty comment is coming my way. His brows furrow slightly. I don't know if he's staring at my breasts, my belly, or just my nakedness in general, but it's astounding to me. He doesn't appear to be lecherously peeping like he typically would; he's just eyeing my body.

I feel my cheeks start to burn. "Can I have the towel please?"

Negan blinks up to my eyes. "Yeah."

I take one side and try to wrap it around me, but Negan's not letting go of the other end. He brings around, so I just grab it the rest of the way when I can. Next, he puts his hand out.

"Thanks." I murmur, letting him help me out of the tub. I stand on the bathmat, glancing up at him in question when he doesn't move. "Are you...going to leave, so I can get dressed?"

Negan looks back to me. "Yeah, sure. Unless of course you want me to stay."

"No, thank you."

He snickers, and then sighs. "Alright, I'm going."

I dry myself off with the towel, patting the water droplets off my skin.

"Oh, Nan?" Negan calls as he's opening the door.

"Yeah?"

"I want to see you after you're dressed."

I pause the patting, knitting my brows. "What?"

"Come see me when you aren't naked," Negan tells me, "Or hell, if you wanna show up tits out, I wouldn't mind a damn bit."

I scowl at his chuckling. "Just give me a minute and I'll be out."

The door closes and I finish getting dry. I knew I wouldn't walk away unscathed. I knew he'd do or say something. I know he's gonna ask me to meet him in his room. Once I put on my undergarments and clothes, I hoof it out of the bathroom. I get a view of the drawing room, where the girls are sitting and Negan's pouring a drink into a glass.

I tread quietly into the room and over to the bar. Negan catches sight of me as he takes a drink from his bourbon. I come up to the bar, leaning my arm on the top. "So?"

He smiles while his lips are still on the glass. He sets it down with a gravelly "ah!" at the strength of the alcohol. "So?"

"You wanted to see me."

"I did," He grins and then his eyes signal towards the door along with a slight nudge of his head, "In private."

 _Of course._ I nod and head for his bedroom. I don't know what this is about, but it's Negan, so I suspect it won't be anything pleasant. I open his door and go inside, waiting for him to shortly follow.

"Have a seat."

I go to sit in my usual spot, but Lucille's resting there. As I move to go around to the other chair, Negan tosses his leather jacket down on it. He smiles at me as he extends his bourbon for me to hold. Annoyed, I give him a glance, before I take the glass and walk over to the sofa and sit.

After setting the glass on the end table, I place my hands in my lap, just under my tummy, which gives off just the right amount of warm. I watch him go over to the dresser, tugging off one of his many white shirts over his head. He rifles through the second drawer for a clean shirt, not saying anything, which perturbs me.

As strange as it sounds, quiet Negan is worse to me than Negan who never shuts up. I'm the kind of person who has never minded a little quietude between two people, in fact, I think it can be comfortable, but that's not the case with Negan. He's quiet when he chooses to be quiet and you can't always peg why he's chosen to be. It always feels so isolating, like he's putting an arm's length of space out, so he can think, or assess what to do, or say.

I know it seems like I'm overthinking him taking a minute to change his shirt without feeling the need to speak, but I know Negan well enough to know that he's thinking and that's what concerns me. _What is he thinking?_

Negan looks my way, almost as if he's heard my thoughts, so I turn my head forward. "So, how was your day?"

How was my day? "It was okay." I answer without looking over at him.

"You didn't go outside, did ya?" He chuckles as he sits himself down in the corner of the sofa. "Take a little stroll around the garden?"

"No, I didn't." I reply, even though I know he's teasing.

"Good girl." Negan reclines back, putting his feet up on the table.

"Is that all you wanted to see me for?"

"Nope." He takes another sip from his glass.

I glance his way. "What did you want to see me for?"

Negan lets out an exhale, perfectly relaxed. "Nothing, really. I just wanted you to sit here a spell with me."

I puzzle my brows. "W-what?"

"Yeah," He huskily says, "All the fuckin' shit I've been dealing with lately, I could use a little company to decompress."

"You have wives for that. One of which is a masseuse."

He peers over at me, smiling as he snickers. "Maybe later tonight, but not right now. Right now, I just want to sit here with my baby mama. Take a load off."

I look him over, before sighing through my nose and pushing myself up.

Negan takes the wrist closest to him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Let go, please."

"Where are you going?"

"Back down to my room," I blandly relay, "I don't want to sit here with you, if all you're doing is entertaining yourself."

"Trust me, darlin', this isn't my idea of entertaining myself," He chuckles, "Though the thought does tickle me hard."

I take my arm from him. "I'm leaving."

"Actually, you're not, so sit the fuck down." He calmly, yet curtly tells me.

"Why do you do this?" I sigh, remaining seated.

"Do what?"

"Toy with me?" I look at him earnestly. "If you wanted me to sit here with you, then you should have just said so. Instead, you just play games." I fight back tears. "I don't like it; I'm not a play thing."

Negan is quiet for a minute, staring, studying. He then sighs and looks off. "Fucking hell, you're a prude."

"No, I'm a person and I wouldn't be so wound up, if you didn't do things to wind me up."

His head turns back my way and he sets his eyes on me, again searching my face. And again, letting out a breath. "It's not like I mean to fuck with you. I mean, I do, because it's funnier than shit, but I do that with everyone, Nan, not just you."

"Oh, well, now I don't feel so singled out." I acridly murmur.

"Look..." His finger taps his glass, before he exhales, "It's easy, alright?"

"Easier than it is to just be nice?"

"I'm a little rusty on how to 'be nice'," Negan cackles under his breath, "It's not something that comes natural. You gotta stroke it a little."

"Well, start stroking, then."

Negan laughs and it causes me to laugh, too. "Damn, honey, you are funny when you're not being a pain in my ass."

I smile lightly. "I don't mean to be so uptight, either, you know? It's just...I like when you're straightforward. Like when you told me that you wanted me to eat with you, so you knew I was getting enough food for the baby, instead of acting like I was just some guest you honored with an invitation." Negan looks at me with a serious, curious expression. I gaze into his eyes. "Or when you told me that you would look out for us, no matter what. I like when you're honest with me and not spinning me around."

"Spinning you around?" He puts his bourbon up to his lips. "What like a sit and spin sort of thing?"

A small laugh exits my mouth, which makes him chuckle. "No, I mean, when you mess with me, until I'm upset, instead of just telling me what you want."

Negan's humored smile fades. He looks down at his glass. "Huh."

I survey his features, before sighing aloud and looking towards the doors at nothing. "Lillian said the library needs more color."

"Is that right?" He replies, vaguely paying attention.

"Yeah, she said the walls are 'optical corrosion of the mind'," I faintly chuckle, "I think she'd like a brighter coat of paint."

"I'll get right fuckin' on that."

I adjust in my seat a little bit. I've been sitting so erect that my back's a little achy, so I decided to scoot myself back until my back touches the rest. "Is Amber angry with me?"

"Who the fuck cares?" Negan finally glances back at me.

"Well, I'd like to you know what I did."

"You didn't do anything," He rolls his eyes, "She's just a fucking whiner."

I put my hand on the top of my belly. "Are you still nudging them to be nice to me?"

"No," He scoffs, humored, "Don't fuckin' need to, they like you better than they like me."

"I...can't argue with that."

Negan throatily chuckles. "Yeah, especially Dani. She likes you a lot, or at least she did that one night."

I purse my lips. "Shut up."

"I was there, baby," Negan sits up, back to himself, "You definitely made me feel inadequate. Satisfying one of my wives better than I could."

I look down at my hand. "Well, I...always felt more confident with women."

"I should say so," He snickers, "Is it because you're also a woman?"

"I don't know," I shrug my shoulders, "Maybe. It's like...Mrs. Dalloway."

"Who?"

"It's a book," My eyes return to his, "In it, Mrs. Dalloway reflects on how she felt with Sally Seton when she was younger. And when she looks back on that moment by the urn and then on her relationships with Peter and Richard, her husband, she feels like those were nothing compared to that small time she had with Sally. Like what they had was purer and deeper than what she could ever have with a man."

Negan looks me over. "Is that how you feel?"

I shrug again. "I thought I felt that way with Sylvie, but I think it was just a first love sort of thing. She was the first person who said she loved me, aside from my family. She knew how to make me feel like I was special and like I mattered to her."

"She's the one you cheated on your boyfriend with?"

I sigh, peering down at the rectangular space between us. "Yeah. It took me a long time to realize that just because someone said that they love you, doesn't mean you have to give them your love back. Not if they don't deserve it."

Negan's eyes blink down. "Well, be glad you learned that fuckin' lesson."

"Even though it meant that I hurt someone I cared about?"

"Yeah, well, sometimes that's the only way people learn."

I stare at him. "What about you?"

He looks over at me, morose. I continue my gaze, but softly, trustingly. Negan takes a swig from his bourbon and exhales, licking his bottom lip acridly.

Suddenly, I glance down at my stomach. "I think the baby's moving again."

Negan moves his attention to my curved belly. "Yeah?"

I feel around. "Yeah."

He reaches over and puts his hand on my bump. "Here?"

"Here." I move him down where mine just was.

Negan smiles a second later. "Ho-ly shit."

I smile. "It's really active."

"Yeah," He chuckles, "Does it hurt?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Jesus, I don't see how it doesn't. The kid's practically curb stomping your insides."

The baby settles down after a few minutes. "It stopped." I let him know, so he won't linger his hand like last time, which I'll admit was partially my fault.

"Fuck," Negan marvels, "If that ain't the coolest fuckin' thing ever."

"It's pretty cool." I mildly agree.

"And you," He scratches his beard, still astounded, "You are _awesome._ "

I look at him, bewildered. "Why am I awesome?"

"Because you..." He puts his hand up towards my belly, looking for the words, "You got a fuckin' kid growing inside you. The fuckin' future."

"That's...a little dramatic, don't you think?" I nervously chuckle.

"No," He shakes his head, "It's not, and it's the truth." Negan's eyes meet mine intensely. "You're keeping this world going. It's goddamn beautiful. Hell, you're beautiful. You look like a pumpkin, but you're beautiful."

"I...I-"

"You're saving the world, Nan."

I stare at him, unsure of what to say. Does he really hold that much importance in this child? My child? I'm speechless and I don't know if it's because I think he's drunk, or if I...I don't know.

"You...Do you really believe that?"

"You're goddamn right I do," He retorts, serious as a heart attack, "You're a fucking lifegiver. Not a lot of people can say that these days."

"What about you? The Saviors?"

"I'm a lifesaver," He clarifies, "And when need be, a lifetaker, but I sure as shit ain't on your level, baby."

I just keep staring at him, stunned. When I have to breathe out, a very minuscule of a smile cracks onto my face.

Negan's eyes glances over my face, before he moves himself in his seat. A little closer, then he slowly leans forward. Right as our lips just about touch, I turn my head forward and the smile has faded, disappointed. He sits there, still and possibly confused.

"Um, I..." I get up from the sofa, "I should go."

Negan sighs heavily, biting his lower lip, before nodding. "Yeah." He barely says, jilted.

I move around him and am out of his room in nothing flat, without looking like I darted. I take a few deep breaths as I make my way to the stairs, shaking what was just about to happen out of my head. What the hell was that?

 **...**

Laura's in Reed's office again when I return around four in the afternoon. She does the usual; stops talking to Reed, gives me a look over, and then tells Reed she has to go, before she walks out.

"See ya." She says to him, moving past me without a word.

There's another small crate of food and other things on Reed's desk. No doubt it's for Marisol, I'm sure. I think it's becoming rather clear who her anonymous patron is. This isn't the first time both Laura and a generous donation have been in this office simultaneously.

"Do you want me to take the crate to Worker 51?"

"If you don't mind, please." He responds, reaching out for my clipboard.

"Okay." I gingerly set what I brought on top.

"What are those?" Reed cocks an eyebrow.

"Boots." I simply reply, handing him the clipboard.

"From the commissary?"

"No, from my room," I explain, "They're an old pair of Dwight's I found in the closet."

"I see," He's still perplexed, "And you think I might want them?"

"No, I'm giving them to a worker."

Reed's eyes follow me as I exit the office. I go through the quarters with more pairs of eyes on me. I stop off at quarter 51 to give Marisol her stuff.

"Thanks." She sets it down beside her bed.

"You're welcome." I tuck the boots under my arm and start to walk off.

"Hey, wait a minute!"

I glance over my shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Do you know who's sending me all this?"

"Um, no," I answer her, "The only person who does is Reed and he said they wish to remain anonymous."

"It... It isn't Simon, is it?"

"No."

"Is it Negan?" She inquires with an uneasy look on her face. "He comped my meals already."

"No," I shake my head, "It's not Negan, either. Look, I don't know who they are."

"Oh," She nods, "Okay."

I carry on down a ways towards the front; I catch a quick glimpse of Laura by the stairs. As soon as I look her way, her eyes flicker off. Worker 10, whose shoes were taken by the Savior earlier, sits on his mattress, picking through his belongings. He looks up when I stride up to his quarter. I set them down in front of him and promptly walk away before he can reject the boots, or say anything unnecessarily hurtful.

The front doors to the factory abruptly burst open, gaining the attention everyone on the floor. Gary, Keller, and those two other Saviors that Negan had sent out have returned. All four men are carrying a large crate on each side. It must be heavy, because of the lofty way they set it down.

"Hang on," Gary tells the other men as he wipes sweat from his brow, "I'm gonna go get a nail gun for the big guy."

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy! Wow, what an episode last Sunday! Just Wow!**

 **CLTex: Glad you liked Nan and Negan's little compromise! Hopefully, it lasts and they can keep common ground...until Dwight comes back that is.**

 **StTudnoBright: I like Nan standing up to Negan, too. She's not always so brazen, but she's getting there. I mean, she'll have to survive Negan lol. I'm happy you enjoyed their cute little moment at the end. Negan is excited, as I'm sure you may have picked dup on in this last chapter ;)**

 **Muffin35: Welcome aboard! It makes me so happy that you found and love my fic! It also makes me glad that I made you like Dwight a little more and that you find my character relatable! Thank you so much for the praise :)**

 **Note: A while back, when asked to provide some idea of what Nan might look like, I said something like Imogen Poots. On further thought, while Imogen is gorgeous, I think Nan (in my mind) resembles Gillian Jacobs. She's got an older look to her that I really just have always pictured Nan as looking like to some effects. Imogen just looks a tad young to me...**

 **Being said, if you have already got Nan's image down in your head, then by all means, disregard this note. I can't force you to visualize a character anyway you don't want you; it's you imagination. Nan's aesthetic is still the same though: copper brown hair, nose ring, twenty-seven years old, and makeupless (since it's not accessible in the ZA, or at least no one can be bothered with it).**


	52. Stay

"What is that?"

I glance over my shoulder at Hal, then back to the crate ahead. "I don't know."

"They just come back from taking the blockades down?"

"Yeah," I nod, "And the east outpost."

Hal nods his head, too. "What do you suppose is in the crate?"

Gary returns with a nail gun and the four men hoist the huge box up and head off towards the only place I can think they'd take it. The meeting room.

"I don't know," I answer, "But I'll find out."

"You think you should?" Hal lightly holds me back. "You weren't asked to go there. What if he tells you to fuck off?"

I think about it for a second. I wonder if he'll be angry with me for rebuffing that little...incident last night? I look at Hal. "If he tells me to fuck off, then I'll fuck off."

The stairs are getting to be more and more of a trial. It's hard on my knees, but I don't have a choice but to climb, because I live a fucking factory. I do however manage to catch up with the men. I know I probably won't like what I find out and may possibly be barred from finding out, but I'm still going to try.

Keller peeks over his shoulder in the hall to get a glimpse of who's following them. He doesn't say anything, but he does give a look of confusion before he turns back around. I can make out black letters on the lid of the box from the fair distance I keep between myself and them; however, I can't see what it says, because Keller and the other man on the end are to close in shoulders.

But, I can guess what's inside from all the rattling and growling I hear. I'd ask who would put a roamer in a crate and leave it for the Saviors to find and deliver back to Negan, but I don't think I need to. Those people must have gotten to the outpost.

When we get to the door, Gary knocks briefly, after hearing Negan's voice from the inside of the meeting room.

"Yeah?" Negan responds almost immediately with a casual sounding tone.

Gary struggles a little to open the door while still carrying his side of the crate. The men use the crate to nudge the door fully open, exposing Simon right away. Next, they slide the crate onto the table.

"What the hell is that?" Negan asks.

"Special delivery from the Hilltop," Gary answers, "We found it at the blockades." Negan comes into sight from where I stand by the doorframe. His face doesn't look at all amused at the commotion inside the crate. Gary hands him the nail gun he retrieved. "I brought you this to deal with it. It's fully charged."

Negan takes the nail gun. "Get out."

All four file out of the room. I let them pass me, still looking into the room. I'm instantly spotted by Negan and I meekly glance back, anxious. He doesn't look too happy to see me, but he also doesn't appear angry either.

"What?" He demands.

I forgot to find, or makeup a reason for coming here. "I...I wanted to talk to you."

He gives me a brief look over. "Well, whatever it is you want from me can fuckin' wait," His hand takes the door, "Fuck off."

The door shuts in my face. _Ouch_. Do I really only find Negan when I want something from him? I go to leave, when I hear the snarling of the dead, followed by four or five quick stamps from the nail gun.

"That's Dean," Simon says from inside, "He's from the radio tower. That means the other thirty-eight they have are, too. Those are my men!" His voice rises with anger. "I'll kill those son of bitches!"

"You will do what I asked." Negan fires back.

"We should drive straight down to those pricks and fucking knock a hole in their wall and-" He's quieted by a loud _thwack!_

"YOU WILL DO YOUR JOB!" Negan booms, startling even me on the outside.

There's a tense air of silence, before Simon speaks again. "Got it."

"And have someone get him to the incinerator."

"Yeah," Simon replies, "Will do."

Before I have time to get out of here, the door swings out and I'm face to face with him. He is clearly not happy. Simon moves past me, shoving past me really, and strides down the hall out of sight.

"I thought I told you to fuck off?" Negan's voice calls me back forward.

I look at his displeased face. "Sorry."

His eyes move over me again and he sighs. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," I quickly say, "I just...wanted to know what was going on. I saw them bring in the crate."

"Well, take a peek." He scoffs.

I cross my arms, very briefly peering over to the box where a lifeless body lays. "Those people did that?"

"Yep, and they got thirty-eight more back at Hilltop," He walks to the head of the table, "Assholes."

I remain standing by the door, unsure of whether or not I should go in. "Are you worried they'll the kill the rest?"

"If we don't 'stand down'?" He chuckles acridly. "I think those animals will do whatever they think is necessary to win."

"I thought you said Hilltop was secured?"

He looks at me. "Yeah, well, that's what my right hand man told me."

"So...what are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna sit for a day or two and then, I'm gonna get a handle on 'em," Negan retorts, "I think it's pretty damn obvious that if Prick and the Alexandrians aren't already at Hilltop, then they sure as shit are heading there."

I nod my head. "Okay."

"That was probably all Carl's idea," He adds with a proud grin, "They all got out while he was distracting me with his little heartfelt speech. Clever little asshole."

"Yeah..." I haven't seen Carl in months. Not since...well, the first time I met him.

"That kid has ten times the balls his father has," Negan hikes his boots up on the table, still grinning, "Ten times the man, too."

The way he talks is so admiring. If I weren't here, he might still be saying these things aloud in an empty room. I don't know what to say, so I just stand and listen.

"That kid's the future," His eyes beam my way, "He's gonna make a great lieutenant one of these days."

I unfold my arms and fix my shirt at the end of my belly. "Okay," I tuck some hair behind my ear, "I'm gonna go to the library."

"Hey."

I turn. "What?"

He beckons me over with his finger. I take a breath and enter the room. I stop two feet in front of him.

"Are we good?"

I puzzle my brows. "What?"

"Are we still on good terms after what happened last night?" Negan elaborates, not once taking his eyes off me.

"Oh," I rest my hand on my tummy, "Um, yeah, we're good."

"That didn't sound too assuring."

"Well, it's true. We are good."

"Huh," He sticks his tongue in his cheek, "You missed breakfast this morning."

"I woke up a little later," I softly lie, "I made something in my room, so I wouldn't be late for work."

"Hm, because the only time you miss a meal is when I've pissed you off, or you're moping about Dwight."

I shake my head. "No, I just woke up late."

Negan's eyes travel up my figure, stopping on my eyes. "That's all? You just woke up late?"

"Yes."

"I didn't cross a line, or...creep you out?"

"Mm, no."

"Because that's what it looked like to me."

I shrug. "No."

He taps his finger on Lucille again. "I thought we were going to be honest with each other?"

I look at him. _We?_ "We...we are."

"So, you're telling me the truth?"

"Yes."

Negan's irked face studies me for a hard moment, before he sighs. "Alright, you can go."

"Okay."

"I'll see you at dinner?"

I stop at the door. "Yeah."

 **...**

I roam the halls at a snail's pace to give me some time between stairs, as well as time to shake off my encounter with Negan. I know I should've foreseen him bringing up last night, but god, that was so awful. I wish he would've just pretended it didn't happen...or almost happen.

And do I really only come to him when I want something? Two months ago, I didn't even want to accept a kind word from him in fear that I would owe him for it and now it seems like I'm running to him for everything. What am I doing? I know that I'm trying to make sure my baby's taken care of, but that doesn't include getting together with him. Negan said there was no strings attached in helping me, but I should have known better. I know him well enough.

"Mom, are you listening?"

I look up from the floor as I approach the library.

"Mom?" Amber's meek voice asks again from inside the room.

"Yes?" Lillian finally answers.

"I asked if you were listening to me?"

"I heard your voice," Her mother replies in her usual frosty tone, "But not your words. What were you saying?"

Amber exhales. "I was you telling that Negan made me..." She looks at me as I enter and closes her mouth.

"Hi." I politely smile.

Lillian goes over to her teakettle. "I'll put the kettle on."

"Okay."

Amber watches her mom flip the little stitch on the hot plate and I can see the hurt.

"Did you bring back Jane Eyre?"

"No, not yet," I sit down in my usual spot, "Sorry."

"How are you feeling today?"

"I'm fine," I smile, "I haven't had morning sickness in awhile."

Lillian brushes her hand under my bangs to feel my temperature. Her motherly eyes examine my complexion. "Then why do you seem so troubled?"

"I-I don't. I mean, I'm not."

"Hm." She turns back to go to her desk.

Amber looks at me and she's not amused. "I'm gonna go."

"Oh, I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

"Doesn't matter." She scowls, going towards the door.

"Well, wait," I put my hand up, "Don't go. I'll leave."

"Why are you leaving?" Lillian inquires. "I just put the kettle on."

"She's not leaving, Mom," Amber murmurs, "I am."

"Alright," Lillian simply nods, "Come by again soon."

I know Lillian wasn't trying to be cold, but it came off that way. Amber huffs out the door. She'll probably cry up in her room once she gets back to the top and I don't know if I'd blame her.

"So, what's wrong?"

I glance back to Lillian. "Huh?"

"You're not ill, but you're troubled," Lillian says, looking over a book, "Why?"

"I'm not."

"You aren't a very good liar."

I lean my back against the chair, rolling my eyes. "It's nothing."

"If it's weighing on your mind and showing on your face, it's not nothing."

I pull out my crosswords. "Well, I can ignore it, until it becomes nothing."

"Has that ever worked before?" She peers over through the corner of her sharp eye.

I tap my pencil against the booklet. "Sometimes," I twist my mouth to the side, "But hell, maybe if I didn't ignore things, I would know who the father is."

"How do you mean?"

"If I didn't ignore all those times I felt sick, or paid attention to my cycle, I might have been able to figure out exactly when I got pregnant."

"What does that matter?" Lillian arches her brow. "One's dead and the other isn't."

"Wouldn't you want to know?" I ask curiously. "If you weren't sure who Amber's father was, wouldn't you want to?"

"A mother always knows," She replies, "And I would want whomever was the best choice in raising my daughter. Sometimes the biological father isn't that man. Not that I ever got to know."

I look off. "But I don't know...and I may never know."

"Then why worry?" She looks my way. "If he provides for your child, protects them, and is good and kind, then what difference does it make if he is, or he isn't?"

I shrug my shoulders. "But...it's Negan."

"Ah, so he's the something that you're trying to ignore into oblivion," Lillian discovers with a clever smirk, "Not likely an easy task."

I scoff, staring down at my crossword. "Why? Because he's everywhere?"

"Because he refuses to be ignored."

"Well..." I sigh, "I don't know how I feel."

"About?"

I shrug again as a response. _I don't know._

Lillian doesn't press me on it, which is unusual for her, but I'm not complaining. When the hot water's ready, she makes me a cup of tea.

"Thank you." I take a light, cautious sip and then get back to my boring puzzle.

"If you'd like Negan to not be so involved, then why not say so?" She finally speaks after a good ten minutes.

"It's not that easy."

"No?" She questions, skeptical. "From what I've heard, he tends to be more flexible with you."

"Who told you that?" I knit my brows.

"Amber."

"What did she say exactly?"

"That you were his favorite," She tells me, "Despite being an unofficial wife."

"I'm not an unofficial wife," I retort, slightly bitter, "I left him."

"And yet, you still reap all the benefits of being his wife."

"That's because I'm pregnant," I defend, "He's just making sure my baby's taken care of."

"What about that girl down in the quarters?" She airily challenges. "Does she dine with you, too?"

"No, but she doesn't have to pay for meals."

"That's hardly the same," She returns to reading, "At least, from what I know."

"What do you know?"

"She asked me not to say."

"Well, if it's about me, then I have a right to know."

She lets out a 'ha!' with her eyes still on the page. "You have a right to gossip?"

"It's not gossip, otherwise you wouldn't mind telling me."

"She asked me not to say." Lillian iterates, firm.

Flustered, I want to just up and leave, but I don't. "...Can I tell you something?"

"Depends."

"I need you to not say anything to anyone else." I add, almost pleading.

Lillian breathes through her nose. "Alright."

I scratch my thumb. "Um, Negan almost kissed me last night."

She peers over, soberly. "Almost?"

"I turned away right before he could."

Lillian thinks on it, before replying; "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I...I don't know who else to tell?"

"Because you have no friends."

"No, because I don't want to tell my friends," I clarify, "It's private."

"Am I an empty room?" She wryly asks me.

"What?"

"If it's a private matter, then you would tell no one," Lillian explains, "Am I no one? Am I an empty room for you to speak all your secrets into without caution?"

"No, that's not what I meant," I assure her, "I just...you're a mom, you keep secrets."

"I'm not your mother." She says, before her eyes flicker to the window.

"I know you're not, but..." I exhale, standing up, "But you sometimes..." I close my eyes and shake my head, "Never mind."

"Don't open the window."

"I wasn't going to."

"I saw it," She claims, "It's shadow."

I furrow my eyes, looking over my shoulder. "What?"

"The bird," Lillian stares at the window, "Don't open the window; it can't be here."

I give her a concerned look. "Okay, I won't open the window."

Her eyes watch the window for a second more, before reaching for her tea. "It can't be here. It's wing will get broken. How can it fly with a broken wing?"

"It can't." I sit back down.

"Why did you turn away?"

I almost ask what in confusion, but I then I realize what she's talking about. "I didn't want him to."

"Kiss you?"

"Yes."

"Because you don't desire him?'

I stifle an eye roll. She has such a way of putting things that's so off putting. "It felt like it would be wrong."

"Why is that?"

"Because I don't know who the father is and...what if Dwight's the father?" I put a hand on my belly, uneasy. "Then it feels like I would be doing him an injustice."

"You can't offend dead people."

"No, but you can dishonor them," I rub my pregnancy, "He...hated him." I say that low enough, so it can't be heard out in the hall. "He always did his job and was one of Negan's top guys, but I know he still hated him."

"Well, he certainly did a good job of hiding it."

"He had to," I murmur, "I don't know if I'd be doing the right thing."

"He already takes care of you and your child."

"I know and I agreed to let him continue to help me, but I don't know that it should go beyond that."

"Do you feel nothing for him?" Lillian asks. "If you don't, then it shouldn't."

"I felt strongly for Dwight." I wiggle my nose to keep from crying. "I still do."

"I didn't ask about him. I asked about the other one, you know that. Don't play the fool."

I dig at the skin around my thumb. "I...I don't know how I feel."

"You hesitated."

I drink some more tea, balancing the saucer on my stomach. "I didn't."

"You certainly did."

I stare down into my teacup. "When I was...married to him, I don't think I did."

"Now?"

I shrug my shoulder. "It's nice to have someone who wants to be there for us."

She looks me over, then nods. "I see."

I rise up again. "I think I'm gonna go."

 **...**

Laura answers the door to Hal's room. I stand in front of her, a little bewildered. She blandly stares back. "What?"

"Uh..." I look over her shoulder into the room, "Where's Hal?"

"He's gone," She informs me, "He left about three hours ago."

I furrow my brows. "Left? Left where?"

"To the dumps where those garbage freaks live."

"Why? I thought they switched sides."

"Well, Negan sent Simon over with some guys to straighten shit out and redeliver the message."

"What message?"

"Figure it out." She goes to close the door.

"Wait!" I put my hand in the doorway.

"What?"

"What are you doing in here?"

"None of your business," She snaps, "Move your hand, or lose it."

"Laura," I beseech, "Please, talk to me."

"Move your hand."

"Why can't we be friends?" I ask her. "We were before-"

"Oh, fucking hell!" She rolls her eyes. "Everyone needs to shut the fuck about that night!"

"What went wrong?" I beg her to answer. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't..." Laura exhales heavily, "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not."

I look at her, utterly confused. "Then why are you giving the cold shoulder?"

Laura covers her eyes with her hand, frustrated. "Look, Nan..."

"We lived together."

"I know, but I can't...I can't be around you, okay? I can barely even look at you."

 _Ouch_. I stare at Laura, completely hurt by what she's just said. My dry lips come together as I swallow down the ache in throat. "Okay," I croak, "I, um, I get it. I mean, I don't but...I'll leave you alone."

Laura's eyes look me up and down. "Okay, then," She goes to the close the door, "Watch your hand."

I remove my hand and the door is shut. I feel my face start to scrunch, so I take a breath to smooth it out, before I walk off. The only place I want to be right now is my room, so I head back that way with eyes blurred by tears.

Once there, I sit down on the edge of the bed and wipe my eyes. It seems like I'm just causing more tears to well up. I know it's the hormones making such a big deal out of it, but I am hurt. I don't understand. If I didn't do anything wrong, then what the hell made me so offensive to her?

"Nan, do you copy?" Reed radios me.

I wipe my hand under my nose, before taking up my radio. "Yes, I copy."

"Are you in the office? Over."

"No," I sniff, "I'm in my room."

"Roger that." He replies.

"What do you need?"

"Never mind," Reed answers, "I needed the logs for the commissary, but I'll get 'em myself."

I dab the shoulder of my shirt under my eye. "No, I can get it, just give me a second."

"I'm already in the office," He reports back, "Don't worry about."

I toss the radio on the bed and glance around the room. I don't even feel like crying anymore, but the tears keep coming. It really is times like this that I wish Dwight was here. If he were, he might hold and comfort me like he did that time I was really upset. I sigh, snagging my breath on an upcoming wail. I know I have to let go, but I can't shake myself loose.

I stand up and go over to the sink to wash my face in cool water. The baby kicks a little, which puts a mild pang on my lower abdomen. "Not now, baby."

I'm not sure if I called the baby by simply what it is, or by a term of endearment, but it must have heard me, because it's movement becomes light little flutters and then settles down.

"Thank you." I flip on the sink and cup the water in my hands.

Someone knocks on my door as I'm washing my face. I don't answer, because I don't feel like entertaining at the moment. The second knock comes a moment later and a little louder.

I sigh, patting my face dry. "Yeah?"

The door opens and, you guessed it, Negan walks in. "Hey."

"Hi," I put the dish towel back on the hook Dwight put up, so it could dry, "What brings you by?"

I heard you over the radio," Negan leans Lucille gently against the armchair, making sure the barbs don't touch the leather, "You sounded like you were crying, which it looks like you are, so damn do I have you down, or what?"

I take my elbows in each hand. "You don't have your radio on your belt."

"I heard it on Arat's radio," He informs me, plopping down in the armchair, "So, what is it today?"

I tread over to the bed. "Just girl problems."

"How can that be?" Negan inquires, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "You're knocked up; aren't you not supposed to be riding the crimson wave for a while?"

"What?" I knit my brows at him. "That's not what I meant."

"Huh," He reaches down into the chair, "What the fuck's sticking me in the ass?" He pulls out one of the soldier chess pieces from under him. He inspects the little bayonet. "Jesus, D really didn't cut corners with the details." Negan reaches down, lifting his leg some. "Why the hell do you have all the goddamn pieces in the chair?"

"I knocked them over and I don't remember where they're supposed to go."

"Does it fuckin' matter?"

"Yes, it matters," I tell him, looking at the water on my shirt, "That's why he had them in certain places."

"So, you're just gonna leave 'em in this chair for people to unknowingly sit on and get bayoneted in the ass cheek?"

I shrug, even though I know he's just messing with me.

Negan's grin lessens, before he exhales. "Fuck." He sets the piece on the chessboard to his left. "Whoa, did you feel that?" He looks over at me, brows raised into his forehead. "The earth opening up to swallow us whole?"

I huff. "Very funny."

Negan chuckles taking another chess piece and putting it on the board. I observe him take a few more up and set them in no particular place, almost to prove a point.

"You sent Simon to the meet with the garbage people?"

"I did."

"Do you think they're trustworthy?" I ask him, getting up to trade my shirt for one that doesn't have some water on it from when I washed my face.

"I think that people fall in line and get with the program when they realize it's in their best interest." Negan's eyes follow me to my trunk.

"Hal went with him." I turn my back to him and peel off the flannel, draping it over the bed frame.

"He's a good soldier," Negan claims behind me, "You know he's quite the sharpshooter?"

"Uh, I think he mentioned it before," Goosebumps raise with the feel of the chilly air on my skin, "We didn't talk much about that. We were too tired from working all day to reminisce about our lives before."

"Well, hard work is rewarded with a good night's sleep, so you're welcome," Negan humors, "Hey, did you and him ever-"

"No, Hal and I are just friends."

"Really?" He smiles at me when I turn around. "That's a shame. He's a handsome lookin' kid. I heard Laura's hittin' that."

I wallow over to the sink for a glass of water. Nice to see he's back to normal. "You can go, if you want. I'm okay."

He's quiet for a moment. "...Well, actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Last night."

I pause with the glass just at my lips, then lower it. "We talked about it this morning."

"Yeah, well, it's still sitting on my balls like a brick, so we're gonna bring it up again."

I shift around to look at him. "Okay."

Negan glances over his shoulder to see me. "Have a seat."

I go back to the bed and sit with the glass on the end table I dragged over to the bedside.

Negan studies my movements, flicking his eyes up to my mine. "So, let's just whip it out in the open," He rests his leg on his knee, "I misread the room and ruined a perfectly lovely night."

I look at him, not amused by his attempt to joke it off.

He sees that and exhales, licking his bottom lip. "And I'm...sorry."

I smooth my hands together, nodding down at them. "Okay."

"Okay?" Negan scoffs, "Hell, give me a little more than that, Nan."

I look up. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

He nods. "I did."

"Good," I breathe, cupping my hand under my belly, "Because I was afraid you only said it, so I would let my guard down and it really meant a lot to me."

Negan's eyes explore my face. "You thought I was trying to throw you off balance, so I could fuckin' move in on you?"

I shrug, tapping my thumb on my stomach. "I don't know...I felt off balance."

"Well, I wasn't trying to fucking prey on you with sweet nothings," Negan retorts, a little irritated, "I meant what I said, Anna."

I nod my head, mouthing; "Okay."

He sighs through his nose, looking me over in frustration. His eyes focus on mine. "You felt off balance?"

I avert my eyes, ashamed. "A little."

"Why?"

"I don't know," I start to pick at my thumb, "Maybe it was what you said; it made me feel really good." I scoff at the tears that try to rise. "It's probably the scariest thing I've ever done and you...made me feel really proud to be carrying this baby."

"You should be proud," Negan says, "You're giving birth to the future."

"I thought Carl was the future." I reply, calmly smoothing my shirt to keep from massacring my thumb.

"He is," Negan grins, "But our kid's gonna grow up and survive this world just like Rick's cyclopsed pride and joy. Do better than we did."

I feel a pound of weigh on my lungs. "Better?"

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely," Negan nods, solemnly confident, "We've got to get civilization back in order and once all this shit's hashed out and people get back to the program, then we've got it." He closes his gloved hand into a fist, as if he's actually attained something. "And then we work our asses off, so that kids like Carl, and Judith, and our baby have a fighting chance to exceed us. I want 'em to do more than just survive; I want my child to live. That's what we're fuckin' fighting for."

A smile peaks up. As insane as it sounds, I believe him. I believe in Negan for the first time since I got here. I really think he's full-heartedly determined to make a path for my child to succeed. To live, not just survive.

However, my smile wanes when my mind takes stock of chess pieces on the other side of him. I look down at my bump. "I still have feelings for Dwight. I know he's gone, but it...felt like I would have betrayed him, if I..."

"If you hadn't turned away?"

I nod my head.

"So, does that mean you wanted me to?"

I glance back up, finding his eyes. "No."

He nods his head. "Then why were you afraid of what it would mean, if you hadn't turned your head?"

I look away and I can't help but notice the bass trophy on the wall from the corner of my eye. "Let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

My lungs fill with air and anxiety let's it sit there for a moment or two, before I let it go. "If the baby's born with blonde hair and Dwight's eyes, what will that mean?" I count to five in my head, then let my eyes return to his with the utmost seriousness. "Will you still provide for my child?"

Negan's eyes are transfixed on mine with the same intensity. His gloved thumb grazes the knuckles of his other fingers as he thinks on it. "Yes."

"You will?" I murmur.

"Absolutely."

"And you'd...you'd raise it the same?" I ask with an aching throat. "You'd want the same things for them? To live and not just survive?"

Negan continues to stare at me. The fact that he doesn't answer right away wrecks me. The radio on my bed statics.

"Get ready to open the gates," Simon orders, "We're pulling up in two."

"Copy." Solara says over the radio.

Negan gets up from the armchair. "I gotta go meet my right hand out front."

"Okay." I nod, devastated.

"I'll see you tonight at dinner." He collects Lucille from the side of the chair.

"Yeah..."

"And to answer your question," Negan adds with his hand on the door handle, "I have every intention on raising that baby with you." He looks back to me. "No matter what."

 **...**

I log all the points and deductions before Reed gets back to the office. I wanted to go straight to the front to find Hal and make sure he's okay, but I had to get my work done first. I started on the main books, just because I've been the one taking the books to Negan every evening since I started having dinner up there and I want to be able to leave as soon as possible. Also, it gives me plenty of distraction from Negan and I's little conversation three hours ago.

"Hey," Reed stalks in, "What are you doing?"

"I'm half way through the logs," I answer, "I finished my crossword."

"You planning on taking the books to the boss?" He sits down in his chair.

"Yes."

"Good." Reed nods, pulling out a drawer for a pen.

"Good?" I arch my brow. "You got plans tonight?"

"No," He scoffs, "I just don't wanna be the unlucky son of bitch who has to take the books up to him...no offense."

I look at him, perplexed. "Why? What's wrong?"

"No fucking clue, but he didn't look happy when he came back inside."

"Did the meeting with the garbage people not go well?"

"According to Simon, they regretted double crossing us and he brought back their guns, so I'd say things went well."

I nod. "Well, then why would Negan be upset?"

"I don't know," Reed shrugs, "All I know is that he was outside for a while and when he finally came back in, he looked like someone pissed in his porridge."

I look down at my work. What if he's having doubts? He's been really banking on this child being his own flesh and blood. What if he's met with disappointment? What if he's not the kind of man that Lillian's second husband was? _But he said no matter what..._

"Done?" Reed puts his hand out.

"Uh, yeah." I hand him the papers.

Reed carefully looks over my work to copy into the main book and to make sure it's accurate. "Alright," He closes the books, "All ready to go."

"Okay." I rise out of my chair.

"Good luck." Reed gives me the main book.

"Thanks."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," He chuckles, "He's, uh, fond of you."

"Right." I dryly huff.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Reed locks the door to his office. "He knocked you up, so he's nice to you?"

"It's not..." I exhale, "I don't know who the father is, so please don't just assume it's him, okay?"

"Alright, whatever," Reed walks towards the kitchens, "Have a good one."

"Thanks, you too." I hold the book to me and tread to the stairs to take it up to Negan.

Why can't I ever catch a break? I had a good guy and now he's dead and I'm left to find a place where I feel comfortable with Negan. It's like I'm always trying to balance between wanting to try with Negan and wanting to get away from him.

Maybe I should have slept with Hal. Things would have been so much easier for me, if Hal got me pregnant. My face winces as I climb the stairs. Ew, even joking about that makes my shutter. Hal's so close to me, it'd be like incest.

I would've been fine with just Dwight, though. Sure, we didn't have the best start, but I thought we were finding our way. _You have to let go and move on._

I stop at Hal's and knock. I hear two voices quiet. I knock again. "Hal?"

Hal sighs inside and says something to Laura, I presume. I hear her murmur some type of assurance or agreement. The door opens rather softly and she and I are face to face again.

"Can I come in?" I ask her.

"Uh, no," She tells me, nearly whispering, "Now's not a good time."

I read her face that she attempts to make aloof, but subtly fails. "Is everything okay?"

"Yep," She retorts, "So...bye."

"Hey!" I put my hand on the door. "I just want to see Hal for a minute, okay? Can't whatever you're about to do wait?"

Laura scoffs, smiling incredulously. "We're not having sex, dumbass."

"Well, then why can't I see my friend?" I question, trying to get a glimpse of him. "Hal?"

"Come back later, Nan," Laura blocks me, "He's had a long day."

"Is he hurt?" I panic a little. "Hal? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Nan."

I push on the door and Laura begrudgingly lets me. In the room, I discover Hal sitting on his mattress with his shirt off and his head in his hands. He's so low to the ground, despite the palettes, that his knees are close enough for him to wallow between them. Something's wrong. I notice a thin bandage on his right bicep that looks like it's got a little blood poking through.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He says with a despondent rasp in his voice.

I look at his poor state over, concerned. I suddenly remember what the "message" they had to redeliver to the garbage people is. It must have been horrible for him to be sent on that kind of errand and have to witness it.

"Hal, don't-"

"Just go away, Anna," Hal mildly snaps, "I just...I can't talk right now."

"Do you need any-"

"No, I don't want anything!" He lifts his head and I nearly gasp at the terrible look in his eyes. He exhales, hanging his head again. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping, love, I just...want to be alone for a bit."

"Okay," I nod my head, still haunted by his look, "Let me know if you need anything, alright? Even just to talk."

"Yeah." He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's in pain.

Laura glances at me, before shutting the door. "I'm gonna heat some water for tea." She says behind the closed door.

"No, I don't want anything."

"Okay," She murmurs, "Let me change your bandage."

"Are you gonna stay the night?"

"...Do you want me to?"

"Yeah," He replies, barely audible, "I want you to stay with me."

I step away from the door and head towards the stairwell to the third floor. He seemed really upset...like I've never seen him before. Public executions are always hard to see, they're supposed to teach not only those people a lesson, but us as well. But Simon must have done something extra awful to shake Hal that much.

He asked Laura to stay with him, after telling me he wanted to be alone. I want to feel jealous that he chose Laura over me as comfort, but I'm not. I'm actually glad, because that means they must care for each other, even if they're not open about it. Laura and I may never be friends again and I may never know why, but if she's good to Hal, then she's okay in my books. She was always okay in my books, but evidently I'm not okay in hers anymore. Doesn't matter, I respect her for whatever it is about her that makes Hal trust her. Dwight and I were like that.

When I finally make it to the top floor, I've lost my appetite. The stench of strong liquor hits my nose in the hallway. _Wonderful_. That must mean Negan's been drinking for however long he's been up here and because I can smell it so potently, I'm guessing there's a broken bottle. I know why Reed didn't want to come up here.

I almost move to pass the drawing room, when I notice the girls in there. Frankie's sweeping some glass into a dustpan, while Danica, Tonya, and Amber are all sitting, clammed up.

"Excuse me." Hazel comes into the room with a bucket of sudsy water and a mop. Her acknowledgement of me draws the eyes of the other girls my way.

"I told you just to grab a rag and some spray cleaner." Frankie grumbles, dumping the broken glass into the little garbage can.

"And I told you, that that homemade cleaner of yours doesn't work on actual messes," Hazel plunges the mop into the bucket, "This will get rid of the smell."

"It works for me."

"Yeah, right." Hazel huffs, mopping the floor.

"I clean with it all the time," Frankie sharply says, "I use it to clean all the counters and tables and it works just fine for me."

"Yeah, if those surfaces are already clean."

"God, shut up!"

"You shut up!"

"Oh, very mature!"

"Guys, don't start, please." Danica calmly pleads.

"Well, I'm tired of Little Miss Holly Hobby over here, thinking she's so nifty with all her DIY crap!"

Frankie folds her arms, rolling her eyes. "Better to use my time productively, then to waste it on dumb comic books."

"Oh, please!" Hazel snorts. "The only time you're being productive is when your legs are open and that hasn't happened in a while, because he won't touch you."

 _Crack!_ Frankie swiftly brings her hand across Hazel's face. Hazel feels her cheek and while I can only see her face from the side, I can tell she's not angry, but shocked.

"How dare you talk to me like that." Frankie scolds in a tense voice. The light from the chandelier glistens the tears in her eyes. "How dare you say those things, after you're always going on about how we're more than just bed warmers. And last time I checked, he hasn't touched you in a while either."

Hazel's hand comes off her face and onto her elbow. She appears speechless. Frankie inhales and exhales sharply, before storming off. She wipes the underside of her eye as she passes me to go to her room. All the other girls remain silent, just as stunned. Hazel, most likely embarrassed, goes back to mopping.

I stand in the doorway, still as a pillar and unsure of what to say. I've seen the wives bicker before, but I've never seen them so on edge with each other. And all over cleaning spray.

Tonya looks over at me. "He's in his room," She tells me, "But if I were you, I'd just leave it by the door."

"Okay," I nod my head, "What's wrong?"

"We don't know," She shrugs, "He came back up a while ago and went straight to his room. We didn't see or hear from him until ten minutes ago, when he came in for a drink."

"...And he broke a bottle?"

"Not on purpose," Danica chimes in, "He accidentally knocked it over with his elbow when he was reaching for a glass. He said a few interesting curse words and then marched on back to his room."

"Oh," I look at the shiny wet place where Hazel just mopped, "He is coming to dinner?"

"No, Negan told me to tell Owen not to send the workers up tonight." Tonya says.

"We're not having dinner?"

"He said I can make us something," She twists her mouth to the side, "So, I guess I'll be going down to the kitchens."

"I'll come with you." Amber murmurs.

"Fine," Tonya stands, "What do you like on your sandwiches, Nan?"

"Oh, don't worry about me, I'll just eat in my room."

"Are you sure?" She asks. "It's no bother."

"Yeah, thanks, but I've got some stuff back at my place."

"Alright." She and Amber walk towards the entrance.

"I'll come, too," Danica gets up, "I don't like how fancy you try to get with sandwiches."

"Sprouts are not fancy." Tonya laughs.

"Wait for me!" Hazel whines. "I just have to dump the bucket."

"I can take care of it," I offer, "Go ahead."

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm."

"Okay, but be careful," She catches up with the girls, "It's slippery."

I take the handle of the bucket and walk it into the bathroom to dump it into the sink. Now, I have to get the mop to go put it back in the closet with the bucket. In the hall, I briefly peer over to the doors of Negan's room, before I go back to the drawing room. The whole floor is silent.

I set the books down on the coffee table and go over to the bar. Hazel must have put too much soap in the bucket, because the floor is more slick than slippery. I carefully toe around the area to get to the mop that's leaning on the end of the bar. I spy the broom and dustpan there as well, so I gather them up, too.

My feet slide a little as I try to step past the soapy circles. Some of it got on the bottoms of my shoes, so squeak as I walk down the hall to the closet. And sure enough, my right foot slips out from under me and my heart stops as I start to fall. I catch myself on door handles, which stops me from going down all the way. The handles of the dustpan, mop, and broom slap against the hard floor. The bucket spills the some remaining water.

I pull myself up, using the door that helped me. The handles don't decline all the way, which must mean the doors are locked. I look up and see that it's Negan's door. I brush myself off and pick up to take everything to the closet.

I peer back at Negan's door as I shut the closet. Nothing. I hear nothing coming from that room. No footsteps, no cursing, nothing. I tread as quiet as a mouse past his door. I think maybe I better just leave. The wives will see the books on the coffee table and take it to him if he wants it. I don't want to deal with whatever's going on with him.

However, once I make it to the door to the stairwell, something stops me. My mind flashes the image of Hal's distraught face. _Don't do this to me_. I exhale, frustrated with myself. I turn around and walk back down the hall. I'm sure it's nothing.

When I get to the door, I put my ear up to it to see if I can hear anything. Nope. I knock lightly.

"Didn't I fucking say not to fucking bother me?" Negan growls.

"It's me," I meekly reply, "Nan. I brought the books."

"Leave 'em somewhere," He answers, "I'll get to 'em later."

"Okay," I nod my head, "Um...Can I come in?"

"No."

I chew my lip. "Please?"

There's a moment of silence, before a loud, annoyed sigh, followed by footsteps. The lock from the inside is clicked to the right and the door rumbles open. Negan scowls down at me, but I just look up, sincere. He walks back to the leather sofa and sits down.

"What do you want?"

"I don't want anything," I close the door behind me, "I wish you wouldn't think that."

"Yeah, well, what am I supposed to fucking think?" He stares at me. "You only come to me, when you fuckin' want something."

"And whose fault is that?" I sigh, glancing down.

"Excuse me?"

My eyes blink back to his and I shrug. "You're the one who told me to come to you, if I needed anything."

Negan's daunting eyes continue to look at me. "So, then what brings you by?"

"I..." I rub my arm, "I heard you were in a bad mood."

He scoffs through his nose. "Normally, people run the opposite fuckin' way when I'm in a bad mood."

I shift my mouth to the side. "Well, Reed told me to bring the books up. And...I was coming up to eat dinner."

"Dinner's cancelled," Negan curtly reports, "Have Tonya whip you up something to eat."

"No, I'll cook something back in my room," I hesitate to walk further into the room, "How come dinner's cancelled?"

"Not hungry."

"That's never stopped you from having the workers serve the girls."

"They can survive one goddamn night fending for themselves," Negan rudely says, rubbing his hand through his hair and down his face, "I don't want anyone up here who doesn't live up here for the rest of the night."

"Oh," I nod, "Well, then...I'll go."

He looks up. "Calm your tits, I didn't mean you."

"I don't live up here."

"Yeah, well, you're obviously the exception," He retorts, "Are you gonna fucking sit down?"

My eyes move to the two chairs. Lucille's sitting in the chair I sit in, again.

"Well?"

I tread over to the sofa, going the other way around the coffee table, and sit. I turn my head his way and my brows start to gather. He looks over at me. His eyes look a little drained. _Has he been crying?_ I turn my head forward. Negan doesn't cry.

"Was it you I heard in the hall?" He asks.

"Mhm."

"You fell?"

"I slipped," I clarify, "Hazel was mopping the spilled whiskey and she didn't dilute the soap enough."

"Jesus Christ," He curses, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I shrug my shoulders, "I caught myself." I gaze his way again. "Are you alright?"

Negan looks me over. "Peachy."

"Reed said you seemed irked when you came back in after Simon got back."

"What the fuck would Reed know? He was taking inventory of the new guns with Arat."

"The girls said the same thing."

He chuckles under his breath. "Those gals are would say that any damn day of the week."

"So, nothing's wrong?"

Negan's grin lowers.

Something about his face makes me grow anxious. "What's the matter?"

He looks ahead and lets out a ragged breath. He leans forward, clasping his hands in the gap between his legs.

"Tell me," I press, unnerved, "Please."

Negan hangs his head and sighs again. "Rick got a hold of one of our radios. Demanding to speak to me."

"...What did he want?"

Negan looks at me with heavy eyes. "Carl's dead."

I stare back. _What did he say?_ "Carl?"

"Yeah."

"W-when?" My heart thumps against my chest.

"The morning after we destroyed Alexandria." Negan answers, swallowing.

"Y-you killed him?" I feel tears form in my eyes. "When you-

"No," He shakes his head, "He got bit, trying to help somebody."

"From the grenades?" My voice cracks a little. "Or the fires?"

"Neither," Negan tells me, "It was before...had to be."

"Why?" I rasp, doubtful.

"Because of the things he said to me that night..." His eyes scan forward as if he's trying to make sense of it.

"What did he say to you?"

Negan glances back to me briefly, then down in hands.

My throat makes a wet, sinewy click as I swallow down the hurt. "This is your fault."

"No," Negan's voice instantly sharpens, "It's Rick's."

"Carl-"

"Carl died because Rick is a bad father and a bad leader," He cuts me off, angry, "Because he doesn't have control over his people and they do stupid shit and it gets them and other people killed."

I bite my tongue. I only knew Carl very briefly, but...he was just a kid.

 _"He's a monster."_

 _"I know."_

 _"If you know then how can you take up with them?"_

I blink my eyes closed to clear my head. "We were just talking about him."

"Yeah." Negan barely says.

"You said he was the future."

"He was supposed to be. He was built for this world. That kid..."Negan breathes out, "That kid was something else."

My hand fearfully touches my belly. "You said my baby the future, too."

Negan turns his head. "It is the future."

Tears shed down my face. "And is what happened to Carl it's future?"

"No," Negan shifts my way, "Absolutely not."

"How do you know?" I stare at him with watery eyes.

"Because I'm not Rick," Negan puts his hand on my knee, "I'm a better the leader, the best damn leader around, and I sure as fuck won't let shit like that happen, because I know how to save people. Rick doesn't; he only knows how to get 'em killed. Including his boy."

My lip quivers, so I lick it. I go to speak, but I'm too upset to form the words.

"Hey," Negan calls me, squeezing lightly on my knee, "I give you my word, Nan, that our kid's gonna live a long, long life. They're gonna grow up and be happy and safe. And do better than us, remember?" I meet his eyes. They gloss over, but I know he's holding it in. "I promise you that."

I slowly nod my head. "Okay."

"Do you trust me?" His eyes are keen and bear into mine.

All I can do is just stare look back. "...Yes."

"Good," He pats my leg, comfortingly, before wiping away a tear from my face, "Dry those eyes, mama, 'cause there's not reason to cry."

"Carl." I sniff, brushing off more tears.

Negan faint smirk grows fainter. "Yeah." He shifts back to the position his was in before. "What a badass kid."

From where I sit, I watch him blink, once. No tears fall on his cheek, but I swear his eyelashes appear wet. This really has upset him. He liked Carl, more than anyone else I know.

He swallows and exhales through his nose, then clears his throat. "You better get to steppin', if you want Tonya to make you something in the kitchens."

"I'll make something later," I mildly smile, "What about you?"

"I'm fasting for the night."

Without thinking, I put my hand on his shoulder. His right hand reaches across and softly glides over mine.

"Dry those eyes." I faintly murmur.

Negan chuckles, leaning back on the sofa. "Don't be a smart ass."

"I wasn't." I claim, taking my hand away from his shoulder.

He looks over at me when I do, but then accepts it when he sets his eyes forward. My index finger rubs along my thumb. I slide myself a little closer him. He notices right away. I gaze down at him. _One-two-three-four-five_. Sheepishly, I extend my hand over and place it gingerly on the other side of his face.

Negan takes my arm, while continuing to stare back at me. _One-two-three-four-five_. I sigh through my nose, then, I lean forward and plant a small kiss on his lips. He reciprocates, more wantonly than me, before looking me over as I pull back a little bit. We fix on one another for a few seconds. I wait for something, but I don't think it'll come, so I kiss him softly again.

 **...**

The night's cold and the wind whirls furiously. His breath fogs the window, so he moves away from it. If it rains tonight, it'll snow. The man lights up a cigarette and sits on the single bed.

He looks at the inside of his forearm. Seven months, two weeks, and three days. It'll be seven months, two weeks, and four days tomorrow. Tomorrow. He'll be back there tomorrow.

It looks like he's not been ratted out, or he's walking into a trap by going home. But it's not like he had much of a choice. It was either go with them, or get all those people back the banks of the swamp killed. No doubt Negan would bash his brains in with that stupid fucking bat once all that was done. In front of her...

"You want some of this canned soup?" Another Savior appears with a pot of chicken noodle in his hand.

"Nah, I'm good." The man takes another drag from his cigarette. "What time you think we'll make it back to the Sanctuary?"

The Savior chuckles. "Eager to get back to your girl?" He shrugs his shoulders. "Probably before dinnertime."

"How come that late?"

"Negan wanted us to swing by the west outpost."

"Why?" The man's brows furrow. "It's already been cleared. Regina's manning it."

"Yeah, but he wants us to bring back a few guys."

"Oh, yeah?" The man's finger scratches the one next to it. "What for?"

"He's gonna send that weird asshole with the mullet to that factory to make bullets and he needs a few helping hands."

The man nods. "You think it'll take that long? If we're fast, we can make it back by noon."

"Calm your dick, D," The Savior grins, "We'll get ya home."

The Saviors walks back to the part of the post office they use as lounge.

The man scratches his head, then puts his cigarette out on one of the p.o. boxes the bed leans up against. He puts his shirt back on, before getting under the starchy blankets. He stares up the ceiling, fishing out the hair tie from his shirt pocket. He turns it over between his fingers as he thinks. Tomorrow.

 **...**

I turn in my sleep. It's warm in the room, too warm. The fireplace is going. I use to think it was electric, or just for show. I can hear the crackling of the burning wood and the smell, which has always been a favorite of mine. I flip over with some difficulty, kicking off the soft sheets.

The bed creaks at another's movement and my brows furrow, before I open my eyes. It's dark; but my eyes adjust on him lying on his back. I visually trail down, taking note of his white t-shirt as his breast moves up and down in a shallow rhythm.

I begin to slide myself ever so carefully towards the end of the bed. My barefoot feels around the air, until it finds the floor. The bed creaks again as I ease myself off it.

"Where are you going?" He asks, making my heart skip a beat. His eyes are still closed.

I stare. "Um, to the bathroom."

He nods his head in response, half-asleep.

I pad around the bed and towards the coffee table, where I left my shoes, flannel, and jacket.

"You need shoes to take a piss?"

I look over to the bed. His eyes still aren't open. "No," I murmur, "I guess not." _Fuck_.

I barefoot it out of the room and curse myself as I walk to the bathroom. I really do have to pee. I don't turn on the light as I enter. I just sit down on the toilet seat in the dark. My stream practically sounds like Niagara Falls, because of how dead silent it is up here, but it's such a relief.

I flush and go to the sink to wash my hands. I'm faced by the mirror on the wall above, but I barely can see who's there anyway, so I ignore it. I wash the sweat off my face and around my neck. After drying my hands, I very gently close the door and tread back to his bedroom. His doors always make a rumbling sound, no matter how delicate the hand.

I make him out on the bed, just as he was before I left. I walk over to my clothes and gather them up, throwing them down on the sofa. I pull my jeans down and step out of them. I then slide my yoga band down off my hips and lay it over the arm of the sofa. My underwear is considered high- waisted, but you can hardly tell in the front. I got them from the commissary, since my usual pairs make me feel like I've got to pull them up every couple minutes. Terry laughed that these new ones looked like granny panties when I was signing for them. I don't care, they're comfortable.

I climb back into my jeans, even though they won't button. I set the flannel down on top of the band and then my jacket. Next, I stick my socks in my shoes and place them right in front of the clothes.

I turn around and take a deep breath, before going back over to the left side of the bed. I said I would stay. I peel back the blankets and am relieved that he still has his pants on. I climb back under and go back to bed.

* * *

 **Thanks you all for reading! I appreciate all the awesome support!**

 **CLTex: The tension with Amber shall be revealed soon! Glad you like the drama surrounding the Saviors and workers. That's definitely gonna be coming back.**

 **Jofrench22: You're wait for Dwight's return shall be coming to an end fairly soon! I feel the same way; I want him to come back to the Sanctuary, too. He's been gone too long (much to a certain somebody's advantage) (:**

 **StTudnoBright: I'm happy you like Nan and Negan's little moments. Nan's definitely trying, despite the obvious reservations. I know, you can't wait to find out why Amber's so sore, either! ;)**


	53. Welcome Home, Dwighty Boy

_It's quiet. All the dead are gone and the heat from the sun and the burning cabin have cooled. Shovel in hand; I glance around the empty woods. On the ground, the plaid tablecloth lies flat. I turn forward and my eyes look down into the grave I've been digging for so long._

 _He's there, but he's not one of them. The smell of wet earth eases my concern. He looks up at me, squinting one eye as the sun touches his face. He smiles._

 _"Go on."_

 _My grip on the shovel starts to loosen._

 _"Go on," He repeats, "What are you waiting for?"_

 _I take a deep, aching breath, before nodding. "Okay."_

 _I take the shovel, delving it into the pile of dirt on my left. I bring it over to the hole...but I hesitate to tilt the spade of the shovel to the side to let the earth pour over him._

 _"Go on," Charlie encourages me, "You can do it."_

 _I nod my head. I can do this._

 _A bird begins chirping among the trees. It's shadow glides over Charlie's smiling face below. He looks so sure, as if this is truly what he wants, odd as it sounds._

 _"Okay."_

 _I go to begin, a whistle from ahead cause me to jolt. Some dirt and rubble falls into the grave, but not on purpose. I look up towards the woods and see a tall figure. He's only few yards away, close enough that I should be able to see who it is, however it appears to be shadowed, or faded out. The figure does seem familiar nonetheless._

 _"What are you waiting for?"_

 _My attention darts back to Charlie with knitting brows. "What?"_

 _"You can do it."_

 _I open my mouth to speak, but another whistle draws my eyes up again. "Charlie."_

 _"It's alright," He tells me, before another whistle, "Go on."_

 _"I..." I trail off, memorized by that figure in the distance. What does he want? The bird continues to sing, despite having no good reason to._

 _I look down at him._

 _He smiles up at me. "What are you waiting for?"_

 **...**

I flinch myself out of sleep and my eyes adjust to focus on the dark wall. It takes me no time at all to remember where I am and why I'm waking up here. I said I would stay. I thought about leaving in the middle of the night, when I woke up from the heat of the fireplace, but he was awake and asked me where I was going. So, I stayed.

I can smell the cologne he wears. It's always faint with the air, but it's distinguishable enough, especially since I've woken up to it before. That and I think he's the only one I've ever smelt cologne on in very long time.

I lay still as I feel the shape of my body close to his. I wish I could say that I think he must have rolled over in his sleep, but Negan's not really a toss-and-turner. He typically picks a comfortable position, goes to sleep, soundly, and then occasionally moves in the night, though not means that he's moved close to me, awake and on purpose.

"You awake?" His warm breath curls against my neck.

I remain quiet for a few seconds, before shifting a little. "Yes."

"Good morning, sunshine." I can hear the smile in his greeting.

"What time is it?"

"It's early," He replies, caressing my leg, "Go back to sleep."

My eyes look on the sunlight on the wall. "I have work."

"Not until the afternoon," Negan lets his hand rest on my pregnancy, "You got plenty of time to lay here awhile longer."

"What about you?" I murmur, inching away a little at the feel of his touch. "Don't you have to be up?"

"I can move some things around; make a little time for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to." He huskily breathes onto my flesh.

"Why?" I roll my over his way, meeting his eyes. "When there's so much to do?"

Negan's smile widens. "Don't worry, baby," He puts his hand back on my belly, "I already got shit handled."

I knit my brows a little. "What do you mean?"

"I'm sending Eugene and a few hard working men over to the factory where he said he can manufacture me some fire power," Negan explains, "Rick and the Piss Patrol are running low on ammo, hell they should be anyway. But we've got our very own reservoir."

I nod my head, glancing down to the narrow rectangle of sheets that marks the space between us.

"Thank you."

"It was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing," Negan slides his hand to the small of my back, "I appreciate you staying with me."

My eyes flicker back to his. His appear to be truly genuine and still melancholy from the news about Carl.

"Despite the kiss, I know you really didn't want to."

"No, I..." I put my hand under my head, "I said I would stay."

"It's was an obligation."

"I wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

"You tried to sneak out."

I almost say that I didn't, but I hold my tongue. "I...I just didn't want the girls to see me leave."

"Why the hell not?" Negan asks, still grinning.

"...Because I wouldn't know what to say," I exhale, "How to explain."

"You don't have to explain shit to them."

"Well...I just don't want them to think that we slept together."

He chuckles. "We did sleep together."

"You know what I mean."

Negan props himself up on his elbow, letting out a ragged sigh. "Well, like I said; you don't have to explain fuck all to them."

"Yeah..." I look up from that space again, puzzling my brow. "What?"

He gazes at me. "You're beautiful."

Warmth flushes into my cheeks. I lower my eyes, but his fingers softly lift them up from under my chin. Negan leans over and kisses me.

"You're beautiful," He repeats, pecking my lips, "Our baby's gonna be one good looking kid."

I meekly smile, touching his arm when his lips touch mine again.

"Hell, maybe we'll have a boy that'll be as badass as Carl was," Negan smiles into the kiss, placing his hand on my tummy, "Except he'll have a better father."

When his mouth contacts mine, I'm instantly saddened as my mind is clouded with both Carl and the emotion I feel from Negan's lips. It's like a transference of sadness.

"What if it's a girl?" I ask.

He pulls head back a bit, looking at me. "Then I guess she'll make a good wife to someone one day."

I scoff in disgust and start to turn away.

He laughs and brings me back. "Relax, Nan, I was just fuckin' with you!" He pecks my cheek when I turn my face. "If it's a girl, she'll be a Carla." Negan snickers at his own words. "She'll be strong, alright? Just as badass as any man, maybe more so."

"And what if she's like me?" I look at him. "What if she's...weak?"

"You're not weak," He tells me, patting my hip, "You're just...soft hearted."

"Soft hearted?"

"Yeah, like you're, uh, temperate and sympathetic."

"Oh."

Negan smiles. "Not that you're not a thorn in my ass cheek from time to time. You always got a fuckin' olive branch in one hand and an argument behind your back. For the workers, which I don't get why; they've got it good, even though they can be fucking ingrates."

I think about his words. "I use to just keep my head down."

"Yeah, you were a real model worker then." Negan chuckles.

"Is it such a bad thing to be soft hearted?"

"It is when you think with your heart, instead of your fuckin' brain," He says, moving some bangs out of my face, "Our girl's gotta be different. She'll have to close off her heart. Boy, or girl, really."

"But...isn't there good in having a heart?"

"I didn't say they wouldn't fuckin' have a heart. I said, they'll have to seal it up from the rest of this world."

That disappoints me and I know it shows on my face.

"That's just the way it's gotta be, Anna."

I sigh through my nose. I don't want that.

Negan tips my head from my chin again. "Dry those eyes."

"I'm not crying."

"Good." He plants a kiss on my lips.

He shifts more towards me, almost eclipsing my body with his. I put my hand back on his arm when he gets closer as he deepens the kiss. We keep our mouths on each other for a good while. I don't feel what I had hoped to feel, much like the night before, but I can at least cope with what I understand won't be there.

Negan's hand travels along my leg, until he reaches my hip, where the warmth of his fingers feel the skin between my jeans and my shirt. He then slides it over my butt and down the back of my leg, until he reaches behind my knee. He lifts my leg up and over his, making me inwardly pause. _What's he doing?_

Next, his hand returns to the waist of my jeans and my eyes open as they try to glance down that way. When I feel the tug of him attempting to push down my pants, I stick my hand on his chest to push away and break from the kiss. He puts his mouth on my neck and has my jeans down enough to expose my underwear.

"N-Negan," I push against him more firmly, "No."

Negan stops everything and set his puzzled eyes on me. "What?"

"I don't want to do that." I tell him.

"Why not?"

"Because I-I just don't want to," I search for something, anything more to add, "I don't want to hurt the baby."

He looks discernibly along my face, before he scoffs, humored. "We can't the hurt the baby." He gives me a light smooch.

I give him a light, but adamant press to stop, while moving my head. "I just want to be cautious."

"We'll take things slow."

"No," I move the other way to get out of the bed, "I don't want to."

Negan exhales, frustrated. "Anna...Wait, you don't have to fuckin' leave."

"I don't want to have sex with you." I adjust my jeans.

He's quiets for a second, spurned. "...Fine, we won't have sex."

I gather the clothes I set aside last night. "I need to shower."

"Use the one up here," Negan tells me, "You can have thirty minutes."

I halt by the door, turning my head his way. I breathe through my nose as I nod my head, before exiting. Quietly, I pad down the hall to the bathroom, where I drop my stuff so I can put my hands to my face. What was I thinking? I shouldn't have stayed.

I lower my hands with a sigh, then collect my things to lay them out on the rim of the tub. As I go to get a towel from the little cabinet, I find it empty, except for small hand towels. The girls sometimes keep towels in their rooms, so I guess I'll have to ask for one.

I leave the bathroom and walk back to Amber's room next to it. I see that Negan's bedroom door is still open from me, but I don't hear or see him.

I knock very lightly on the door. "Amber?" No word. I knock again, a little harder. "Amber, can I borrow a towel?"

There's still no answer from inside the room. I don't know if it's because she's asleep or because she's ignoring me. I count to five in my head, before I open the door.

"Amber, I'm..." I stop my explanation for intruding when I don't find her in the room, on top of what I do find.

My eyes focus on the right half, her half, of the room. Her bed's no longer there; a wooden crib has replaced it. In fact, the whole side of that room is different. All of Amber's things are gone. There's a little dresser against the back wall and a matching changing table on the same wall as the door.

I step closer to the nursery, to the crib, putting my feet on the woven accent rug. The mobile has the moon, a star, a cloud, and the sun. I peer into the crib to see the cream colored comforter with little yellow ribbons tied every couple inches. My hands rest on the top of the crib as my eyes stay fixed on the inside for a while.

After a few minutes, I turn to the dresser and all it's four drawers. I smooth my hand over the wood, before opening the top drawer. The door behind me creaks.

"It was supposed to be a surprise."

I gaze down into the drawer. "You didn't want me to make clothes, because you already had clothes here."

"Yeah," Negan leans against the doorframe, "And I waiting for the right time to show you, but I guess now's as good as any, since you ruined the surprise."

I shut the drawer and hold my elbows as I take another look around. "This is all from that outpost?"

"It is."

I glance at the changing table that has both disposable and cloth diapers underneath, as well as a small basket with what looks to be little sundries in it.

"Seemed like a waste to leave it there," Negan adds, "Especially since we needed it here."

I nod quietly. "That's why Amber's angry; you kicked her out of her room."

"She'll fine be in Frankie and Tonya's room," He walks into the room, "More so after today."

I turn around and look at the other side of the room; only to discover that it hasn't at all changed from the last time I saw it.

"I had the ladies make up the nursery, but I left that side alone for you."

"...Me?"

"Yes, you," He confirms, "I figured you'd want to be close the baby." He comes into sight. "I can't have either of you in my room at all times, seeing how I have the others, but I thought you'd prefer it this way anyhow."

A heavy feeling pulls down inside my chest and my throat aches to the point where it seems like I can't speak if I could find words. I look back at the right side of the room. I feel devastated.

"Do you like it?"

I nod my head again, moving back around to face him. I look at him and his eyes scan my face. They dower and his mouth scowls a little.

"You don't like it."

My lips part. "N-no, I do I...I just don't know what to say."

Negan breaks out into a smile, almost appearing relieved. "Well, you could say thank you, but I'm not gonna hold you to it."

I offer a bleak, but convincing smile. "Thank you."

He strolls over to me. "You are most welcome."

I glance up at him. "I really do like it."

His chuckles, as his hand touches the side of my belly. "That just tickles my balls to hear. Especially, since I think it's a good time we talk about the obvious elephant in the room."

I frown. "Are you talking about me?"

Negan laughs, drawing himself a little closer. "No, I'm not talking about you," He puts my hair behind my ear, "I'm talking about you coming back."

My eyebrows knit. "What?"

"Well, the bed's not there for when you visit," He snickers, "Unless, of course, it is. But that's a decision you have to make."

I look to the side. "You mean the baby can't be with me down in the room I have now?"

Negan tilts his head as if trying to meet eyes with me. "That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about."

I blink, directing my eyes to his.

"I think you need to give up Dwight's apartment."

I stare. "What?"

"You need to let it go," He tells me, "Give the space to someone else. Come back up here and let me take care of you and the baby."

"I..." I start to shake my head, "I-

"Fuck, if it makes you feel better, like you have some type of fulfillment, I'll let you keep your job keeping track of points," Negan puts his hand on the top of my pregnancy, "We agreed that we'd raise the baby together, right?"

"Together." I repeat the word, stifling a scoff.

"That's right, together," He confirms, "Look, I want you to know that I'm not expecting anything." His thumbs caresses where he's places his hand, sighing. "I know I wasn't the greatest to you last time and I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want to do. All I'm asking is that you consider moving back up here, that's it."

My eyes blink past him to nursery. This stuff's been here a while. Dwight took a group out there months ago. He planned for this.

"What do you say?"

I gaze back to him. "Can I think about it?"

A smile spreads on his face. "You sure can."

I smile back, concealing that I'm dismayed. "Thank you."

"Just don't keep me waitin' on an answer for too long."

"I-I won't," I rasp, "I'll...I'll have an answer by dinner."

Negan chuckles, satisfied, as inclines over and kisses me on the cheek, before pressing his forehead to mine.

 **...**

Hal doesn't answer his door to his room later this morning, when I came down to check on him. I took it upon myself to open the door but he wasn't home. I reported to work and then asked Reed if he had seen Hal. He said he hadn't, so now I'm on the hunt for him.

I'm both worried and desperate. I'm worried, because I know something's really upset him, and I'm desperate, because I don't know who else I can turn to in this hour of need. I check the armory, where he sometimes helps Arat, but no luck. I also check the mechanic's yard, where he still likes to go to do some work.

"Have you seen Hal?" I ask the Savior who oversees the mechanics.

"Hal?" He scratches his beard. "Uh, yeah, he was here."

"Where did he go?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, Laura came and got him."

"She did?"

"Yeah, you know what? She might have taken him out to smoke."

"Hal doesn't smoke."

"Well, she was offering him a cigarette from her pack when they were leaving."

I sigh, turning around to leave. "Thanks."

When I reenter the factory, I go to the kitchens for something warm to drink, or eat. It's not quite November yet, but it's cold. Really cold. Every living soul in Sanctuary can see their breaths, inside and outside the factory. Marisol pours me a cup of leek and cabbage soup into a coffee cup with a sleeve.

"Thank you."

"Sure."

I let the soup cool before I sip it, but it warms my hands. I think I might go back to my room for a while to lie down. I don't feel like going to the library, or Reed's office today. I just want to pass the day alone in there, while it's still mine.

 _I should've have known_. I should've known that this would happen the moment Dwight didn't come back. My stomach is sick and it's not morning sickness. I keep thinking of his smile, when I asked if I could think about it. It was like he knows what my answer will be. As if it's a repeat of what happened when he asked me to be one of his wives and gave me two days to think it over. That, or he knows that I know there's little choice.

As I get to the front of the factory, I notice Saviors dropping off boxes and crate near the entrance. The closer I get, the more I can see that some of it looks not as important as other stuff. Two Saviors drop the lid on a crate of guns that sits beside a box that contains an old video game system and some type of doll.

Someone passes, accidentally knocking into me. He swiftly turns around. "Oh, sorry."

"It's okay." I shake the soup from my hand.

"Ah, shit, did it burn you?"

"A little, but it's..." I focus on Rett, "You've...dyed your hair."

He smiles, running his hand through a shock of blue hair. "Yeah, I made the dye myself. What do you think?"

"It...definitely suits you."

"Yeah, I know," Rett chuckles, widening his eyes down at my bump, "Whoa! Every time I see you, you triple in size. No offense."

"None taken," I smile, looking over at the crates and boxes, "Hey, what's all this?"

Rett shifts half his body. "Oh, that's for that dude that rocks the mullet. Eugene."

I nod my head, remembering what Negan said this morning. "He's heading off to that factory."

"Yeah, to make some bullets," He rubs his hand under his nose, "That lucky bastard."

"Why is he lucky?"

"Because Negan's sending two of his wives to go with him to serve him and shit."

I furrow my eyes at him, trying to determine whether or not I heard him right. "I-I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"Yeah, he wants Eugene to be all taken care of, or whatever. Total bullshit, right?" Rett looks over. "Nan?"

But I'm already heading to the stairs. This can't be. Negan sending two of the girls away? That seems like such malarkey, even from Rett. Why the hell would Negan send any of his wives to some factory with Eugene, or anyone else for that matter? He didn't even trust that I accidentally fell asleep in Laura's room, so how in the world would he trust that nothing would happen an hour away from him?

Once I'm at the top stairwell, my heart's about to burst from my chest, but I force myself to go up the ten stairs to the door. I'm met with the truth right as I open the door. Two suitcases sit outside Tonya and Frankie's room, while Danica and Hazel watch whatever packing's going on from the hall

"You can keep those until I get back," Frankie says inside her room, "Just make sure you take care of them."

"You can't leave!" Amber cries.

"It's not forever, Amber," Tonya sighs, her heels click across the room, "It's just for...a little while. And besides, Dani and Hazel are here."

"Tell him you don't want to go!" She continues to sob. "He won't make you go, if you say you don't want to!"

"He didn't ask us to go, he told us to pack our bags," Frankie tell her, "And if we said no, he'd just send you, or them instead. Is that what you want?"

Amber sniff. "No."

"Then stop crying. You get a room to yourself again." Frankie looks at me. "Oh...hey."

"So, it's true?" I stand in the doorway. "You're leaving with Eugene?"

Tonya nods her head. "Uh, yeah. Negan told us to get ready this morning at breakfast."

I glance over at Amber, sitting on her bed that's between both of theirs. "Why didn't you say no?"

"Because he said it'd be temporary," Frankie shrugs, "And I don't know about Tonya, but it doesn't really bother me all that much."

"But he's...he's just sending you away like you're his property."

"Yeah, but it's not like he's making use of us here, so...it'll be nice to get out. I haven't been outside the Sanctuary in...well, ever since I got here."

Tonya sticks her earrings in a jewelry box. "Me, either."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. We're in the middle of a war and they're eager to go. "I..." I don't know what to say.

"It'll be okay," Frankie reaches down under her bed, "Here." She brings over a bundle of paper tied up with twine. "I was gonna wait, but I guess I might not be here when the baby comes. It's from all of us."

I look at the package, pulling the string and plucking backing the paper. "Oh..." I look down at the blanket made of jewel green yarn. Lying on top is a little hat of the same yarn, striped with a creamy white and a little tassel on the top.

"There's booties and mittens underneath the hat," Frankie points out, somewhat shy, "I, um, I've been knitting my fingers to the bone the last couple months."

I take a second to stop marveling at the bundle in my arms and look up with watery eyes. "It's beautiful."

She smiles. "I figured green was a good choice, since we...don't know."

I chuckle, trying not to let my hormones get the better of me. "Thank you."

Frankie's feet waffle a bit, before she steps closer and gives me hug. "Hopefully, we'll be back soon."

I wrap my free arm around her. "Yeah."

We break from the hug and Tonya hugs me, too. "Hold the baby in, until then, okay?"

I snicker, sniffing back tears. "I'll try," I hold the gift to me like a bouquet, "And thanks for the nursery."

"We wanted to tell you," Hazel chimes in from the door, "But Negan told us not to."

"It's okay." I tell her.

"So, you like it?" Danica asks.

"I-I do, I like it." I smile.

"So...does that mean you're gonna move back up here?"

I look at her and then at all the other girls. "I...I said I would let him know at dinner."

They're all silent, some nodding their heads.

I look at the clock on the wall. "I have to go."

 **...**

I tuck my hands into my fleece-lined pockets, as I walk around from the coops to the front of the factory. I tried to button my jacket up, but that's not going to happen. I give Solara a little wave as I pass her and the other guard by the gates.

Hal's off to the side of the building, close to where the truck had been rammed into the factory. He's got a cigarette between his fingers, bringing it up to his lips.

"Hey." I call him as I walk up to him.

He barely glances my way, before exhaling the smoke. "Thought you weren't allowed outside."

"Yeah, well, what's he gonna do? Throw me in a cell?"

Hal scoffs. "I wouldn't put it past him," He flicks away ash, "You should stay back, so you don't breathe in the smoke."

"Or you could put out the cigarette," I retort, still approaching him, "Since when do you smoke?"

"Since now." He tosses the cigarette and steps on it.

"You want to tell me what's wrong?"

Hal shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good."

I look him over. "You weren't good last night."

"Yeah, well, I am now, okay?"

"You're smoking," I scoff, "You once told me that smoking was disgusting."

"It is."

"Then why the fuck are you doing it?"

"Nan, mind your business, alright?"

I bite my lip, nodding my head. "Alright."

Hal doesn't move, despite being done with his cigarette.

A white fog billows out as I exhale. "Negan wants me to move back to the top floor."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I ignore his aloof, disinterested tone, "And he wants me to give up Dwight's space."

"When?"

"Right away," I lean against the wall, glancing at the rotters on the fence, "He said he'd give me 'til dinner to think about it."

Hall nods, zipping up his jacket. "So, do you know what you're gonna do?"

I scratch the skin around my thumb as my eyes stay glued to the fence. "Yes."

"Then why are you stalling?"

"...Because my stomach feels sick just thinking about it."

Hal looks at me. "You lived with him once, you can do it again." He scoffs, chuckling derisively. "Maybe it'll be different this time around, yeah? You've got a baby, so maybe he'll treat you better."

I furrow my brows at him, opening my mouth to speak.

"Maybe he won't break your hand, or treat you like a Saturday night. Or whatever night's your night."

"I didn't say-"

"I know you want what's best for your child, but did you ever fucking think, Nan, about what's really best?"

"Of course, I have,"Heat roses on my face, "How can you think I haven't?"

"Because you're gonna settle for him, aren't you?" He retorts. "You're gonna go back to him, because he's all nice to you, now anyway, and tells you what he wants to hear, but he just wants the baby, Anna. He doesn't care about you, or anybody for that matter. You'd be just a nanny to him...and a bed."

I scoff, wounded. "Why are you being so cruel?"

Hal goes to reply, but he looks me over then averts his eyes with a sigh. "Look...just forget it."

"No, tell me," I demand, "What the hell is your problem? I didn't even tell you what I was going to do and you bite my head off?"

"Like anyone needs you to tell them what your answer will be."

"Oh, because I'm that predictable, is that it?" I fire back. "Is that the word on the street? What I've been hearing in the showers, or on the factory floor since Dwight died? That it's only a matter of time before I lift a leg over the boss?"

Hal doesn't answer, but that doesn't mean he didn't.

I chuckle bitterly. "Well, you know what? Fuck you. Fuck you and fuck this place and every goddamn soul inside. I'm so sick and tired of everyone thinking they know who I am."

Hal's eyes look down a ways. I almost lose my fury for him as I'm reminded of the boy I saw last night from his doorway. But I can't ignore the hurt I feel and it makes me want to dig at him. I want to claw, and dig, and pull back a layer that would expose the unearthed reason behind his changed demeanor and severe words.

I open my mouth to press him, until I catch a glimpse of Negan coming around the bend with Reed.

I take a heavy breath and tread towards the entrance. "I'll see ya later."

"Make sure the front is clear for when Harry comes back with the trucks," Negan orders Reed, "Once they get here, I want the trucks packed up and gone in thirty minutes. The sooner they get there, the sooner we can get shit under control again."

"I'll get it done." Reed tells him.

"Good man," Negan claps his hand on Reeds shoulder blade, "Hey!"

I stop, knowing he's talking to me.

"What sort of fuckin' comprehension issues do you have?" He grins, strolling up. "Didn't we discuss that you're an indoor cat?"

I scratch my thumb inside my pocket. "I was getting some fresh air."

"It's cold as hell out here." Negan puts his hand up to motion me inside.

"It's cold in there, too," I scoff, "The windows are all shot out."

"Yeah, well, it's about ten degrees colder out here and we got the fireplaces goin' inside, so shut your cake hole and get inside."

I open the door to the factory. "You didn't tell me that you were sending Frankie and Tonya with Eugene."

"I didn't know I needed to clear it with you."

"Why?" I turn to him. "Why are you sending them there?"

"To provide Eugene with a little stress relief," Negan smirks, "He likes them, so I thought I'd have 'em keep him company."

I knit my brows, angry. "You...You're sending them to have sex with him?"

"Fuck no," He laughs at me, "Tonya can cook and Frankie gives a mean massage. You thought I was gonna let them fuckin' tag team him?"

I shrug, walking off. "I don't know, I didn't think you'd ever send your wives away."

"Hell, I wanted to send Amber, too, but she's more like a punishment than a privilege."

"Why keep her around?"

"Because she wants to stay with me."

"Because Lillian's sick," I curtly reply, "If it wasn't for that, she'd be back with Mark."

"Yeah, probably," He snickers, "You look tired."

"I am," I inform him with a sigh, "I'm carrying an extra twenty-five pounds."

"It looks good on you," Negan puts his arm around me, "But it's only for a couple more weeks, give or take."

"Yeah..."

"And I'm sure you'll lose the baby weight like that." He snaps his fingers.

I scowl, moving out of his grasp. "I wasn't really concerned about that."

He chuckles. "You gonna lie down for a bit?"

"I might."

"You know, if you wanted to, we could-"

"Thanks, but I just want to sleep for a little bit in my room, " I walk around him, "I nap better on my own."

 **...**

The factory floor is teeming with men, his men, loading crates and other shit that needs to be loaded up a-sap and shipped out to the factory an hour away. The team of people from the east outpost should be rolling in soon to deliver more hands for bullet making. Might have been easier to send some of the workers, since they're use to that type of dull ass labor, but ever since that little stunt they pulled when they thought the big guy was dead, they're not fucking trustworthy. They'd have that mulletted bastard up on their own fence as soon as they made enough bullets to hold their own.

Up on the top floor, the leader sits on the coach in his private room. It's about two hours until dinnertime. He rubs his hands together in thought. The bat that got him this far rests by the nightstand, next to the unmade bed he didn't let the wives in to make today. They haven't been in here for anything other than straightening up for the past month.

The leader exhales, running his hand down his beard. "Shit."

His dick hasn't been wet for a whole goddamn month. It's like some kind of pussy fast. He chuckles to himself, but the humor's short-lived. It can't be like this. The bed's gotta be made and then unmade again and again and three times more after that. And then eventually, a sixth time down the road, if she makes the right choice. Hell, she will make the right choice. Tigers don't change their stripes.

He lessens the smile that's formed. She can't be all there is. She's not. Never was, and never will be. His eyes blink back to the baseball bat. Fuck, not even the one who was all there is was enough when she should've been. He works the kink and disgust out of his neck.

"Home base, do you copy?" One of his men calls over the radio.

"Yeah, go ahead, Harry." The lady Savior says from the armory.

"We're about thirty minutes out," Harry reports, "We're ahead of schedule, so we'll be there shortly. "

The leader exhales, taking his radio from the coffee table. "That's what I like to hear. Now, hurry the fuck up and get my bullet team here."

"Roger that, boss man," Harry replies, "Oh, and you're never gonna guess who we found."

The leader rolls his eyes. "Who?"

 **...**

"So it's definitely a girl and a boy?"

"Yeah," Marisol shows me the newest sonogram, "Harlan confirmed it."

I smile at the sonogram, but mostly at the brightness in her face from joy. "That's great, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you." She takes the sonogram back, looking at it. This is the first time I've ever seen her as happy as this. "When's your next appointment?"

My smile lessens. "Um, I don't know."

"Your due date's soon though, right?"

"Yeah," I nod, "But things seem to be going pretty well, so I'm not worried."

"You still don't know what you're having?"

I shrug. "No."

"Well, what are you hoping for?"

"Mm, I don't know. It doesn't matter to me."

"Really?"

I go to reply, but a sharp, quick whistle gets my attention. I look over my shoulder and find Reed hastily motioning me over with his fingers.

I sigh, "Well, I should go give him the logs."

"Okay," Marisol nods "See ya."

"Bye." I walk over to Reed, who turns back into his office. "I've got all the point logged."

"Close the door." Reed commands.

"O-okay," I shut the door behind me, a little bewildered by his tone, "Is everything okay?"

Reed reaches into his pocket and approaches me. "Do you know what this is?"

I spy the little fold of paper between his tense fingers. "Uh...no, what is it?"

"It's a note, Nan," He hands it to me, "A worker was trying to toss it in the fireplace."

I unfold the crinkly note. It reads; _"The boots they use to step on your backs belong to you."_

"What did the worker say when you took it from him?"

"He said he found it in his quarter this morning," Reed scoffs, "Had no idea who put it there, but he didn't want trouble, so he was trying to get rid of it."

"What's his number?"

"88."

I nod my head. "Did you ask around?"

"No, I didn't fucking ask around!" Reed snaps, pacing. "I don't want this getting around the goddamn factory."

"Well, maybe no one's has seen it."

"Or, it started at the front of the quarters and worked it's way down to the end."

I look down at the handwriting, putting my other hand on my bump. "Do you recognize the hand?"

"No, you?"

I shake my head. "I've never seen it on the logs before."

Reed sighs, troubled. "We gotta fix this, Nan."

"Fix what?" I huff, "It's just a note, Reed."

"It is not just a note!" He shouts. "We could have a uprising on our hands."

"An uprising?" I arch my brow. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Reed chuckles in disbelief. "They fuckin' stormed up to the second floor a few months ago. One of them fired shots and a fight was about to break about."

"But it didn't," I remind him, "Because Negan came in and calmed everything down."

"Yeah, but-"

"They only got angry because we were trapped inside, they were scared, and because of Simon," I add, "But he's not in charge, Negan is and they're not gonna rebel against Negan."

"How the fuck do you know?"

"Because they're more afraid of him than they are of Simon. Plus, they trust him. That was clear when the issue was resolved as soon as he came waltzing in covered in guts."

Reed thinks about it for a minute. I know he's as tense as he is, because if word gets out about the note, or if the workers do stage an uprising, it could mean his carcass on the fence.

"Look," I continue, "I'll do some digging."

He scoffs. "Like the workers are gonna talk to you. They don't like you."

"I'll talk to the ones that do," I scowl, "If this note's been passed around, odds are they've seen it, or seen someone with it. But it's probably nothing."

Reed runs his hand through his hair. "Okay, but don't tell anyone, especially not-"

"I'm not gonna say anything," I swear, "Especially not Negan. I'm in charge of the workers, so if something happens, I'm just as much to blame."

"Yeah," Reed looks at me with a skeptical smirk, "Like he's gonna do anything to-"

"Home base, do you copy?" A voice calls out over both our radios.

I lower my volume, so it won't create an overlap with Reed's.

"Yeah, go ahead, Harry." Arat answers.

"We're about thirty minutes out," Harry reports, "We're ahead of schedule, so we'll be there shortly."

I fold the note and put it in my back pocket. "I'll take care of the note, alright?"

Reed puts his hands on his hips and exhales like he doesn't have much of a choice. "Alright, fine."

"That's what I like to hear," Negan's voice interrupts over the radio, "Now, hurry the fuck up and get my bullet team here."

I sigh. "Great." I finally end this secret meeting, shifting around for the door.

"Roger that, boss man," Harry replies, "Oh, and you're never gonna guess who we found."

"Who?" Negan inquires as I open the door and walk out.

"We found D."

I stop dead in my tracks. My eyes look up to the factory people, all-moving about, or talking and yet everything is silent. The air's filled with nothing, no response. When I can start to hear and feel my own breathing, I turn back around. Reed flickers his eyes up from the radio on his desk to mine, mouth agape.

"What did he-"

"What the fuck did you just say?" Negan takes the words out of my mouth.

The radio statics as a response and so Harry can barely be heard. I reach for my radio to ask him to repeat what he said.

"Say again, your radio staticed." Negan responds.

"I said, we found Dwight, alive and well," Harry chuckles, "We found him yesterday by the swamp and now we're giving him a ride back to Sanctuary."

A pain develops in my dry throat and my lungs begin to expand more frequently. Dwight? I don't believe it; this has to be some cruel joke that only Saviors would make.

"Well, that is terrific news," Negan finally replies after about an eternity for response time, "Bring him on home."

The conversation ends and I'm left standing there, totally in disbelief. _He's dead...he died over two months ago_. He can't be alive. He wouldn't be gone this long, if he were still alive. He would leave me here. My head starts to swim and it's suddenly warm.

"Nan?" Reed takes a step towards me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm..." I swallow the lump in my throat, "I'm..."

"Here," He gently takes my arm, "Why don't you sit down?"

I don't argue, or answer. I just let him guide me to the chair.

"Wants some water?"

A light cramp causes my face to wince.

"And an aspirin?"

I breathe through the next one, nodding my head.

"Alright, hang on." Reed goes around to his side of the desk and opens a drawer. "One of these canteens has whiskey and one of 'em has water." He opens a black canteen and smells it. "Whiskey." He then produces a dark green one. "Here you go."

I take it and sip as calmly as I can.

"Here's the aspirin."

"Thanks." I swallow it down with more water, even though the cramps have already passed.

"You okay?"

I look at the dark hole of the canteen. "He said they found Dwight."

"Yeah," Reed looks me over, crouched by the chair "I heard."

"Alive?" I glance down at him.

His eyes express concern. "Yeah, alive."

I nod my head slowly.

"Jesus," He chuckles a little, still nervous, "I thought you'd be happy. You look worse than when you were told he was dead."

I puzzled my brows at Reed. My lips part to speak, though I'm tongue lost. "I, um, I-"

The loud knock on the office door makes me jump. "Hey, Reed?"

Reed looks over to the door. "Yeah?"

"We need you to do a final count of all the food and shit we're taking over to the factory," Gary tells him, "Negan's orders."

Reed sighs. "Alright, I'll be out," He returns his gaze to me, "You gonna sit here a while?"

My eyes scan his face. _Sit here a while?_ All of a sudden, it's like everything comes back. Thoughts flow back into my head and the senses ease and sharpen at the same time as I become aware. _Dwight's alive_. "No."

"You want me to walk you to your room?"

"No," I shake my head, rising up from the chair, "I'm gonna go to the front."

"The front? You mean out front?"

"Yeah."

Reed scoffs. "You're not allowed outside, Nan."

"Are you gonna stop me?" I open the door and walk out.

"Nan!" Reed stalks after me, but doesn't stop me from walking.

A few faces look our way as we head to the front of the factory. While I barely concentrate on them, I can guess that they're more focused on me than Reed. Ours weren't the only radios or ears that heard about Dwight. We get to the front fairly quickly, but as I see Negan coming down the steps, I'm abruptly reminded of our little chat this morning, so I shy my pace and duck away towards the big fireplace.

All the people buzzing around the factory, it's easy to be concealed in plain sight. As I come around to the fire, I shortstop to prevent from colliding with someone. It's Eugene, carrying a small crate under his arm.

"Ma'am."

"Uh, hi." I dare to glance over my shoulder to make sure Negan's not looking this way.

"Any day now, I'm guessin'."

I look forward, confused. "What?"

He nods his head towards my pregnancy. "The heir apparent."

I huff. "Y-yeah, few more weeks," I bite the inside of my cheek, "Hey, listen; about Frankie and Tonya?"

"I am fully aware of the intended tasks they've been instructed by Negan to perform at my behest."

I puzzle my brows. "Uh, yeah. Listen, we both know that it's slimy of Negan to send them along to serve you, so maybe-"

"On the contrary," Eugene cuts me off, "I see no type of slime, or foul work at hand. They're merely there to provide yours truly with the utmost care and culinary excellence, given what we'll have in stock. They're assignments seems just and fitting."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't see how a few grown men and women can't cook and clean for themselves at that factory."

"Then you must be nearsighted, because we'll be performing an important job that cannot be interrupted to heat up ramen."

I fold my arms. "But you can be interrupted to let Frankie massage you?"

Eugene's unresponsive eyes stare at me. "I don't intend on utilizing her for those services."

I scoff. "Yeah, well see that the others don't, either." I look at the clock on the wall.

"They should be arriving in t-minus fifteen minutes."

"What?"

"The trucks that will be delivering my team and according to new developments, Dwight, "Eugene curtly clarifies, "They'll be pulling up in fifteen."

I look down. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He goes to leave.

"Wait a minute," I stare at the fire, "Are you really gonna do this? Are you really gonna betray your people?"

"...They were nothing more than former traveling companions," Eugene answers, "A means to an end."

I nod my head, before looking over at him. "How do you do it?" I shrug. "How can you just lend a hand towards their demise?"

He stares at me. He then reaches into the crate under his arm. "This is property of Dwight," He extends a khaki messenger bag my way, "Take care to return it for me."

I look it over, suddenly angry. "Did you steal this?"

"Negatory," Eugene replies, "It was confiscated from the workers after tensions got high, along with the guns that were provided in that there bag."

My brows deeply furrow. "W-What?"

"I've got matters of import to execute, so I'll bid you a good day." Eugene walks off.

I look back at the bag. It's got a careless smear of red paint on the flap. I've been looking for this before he die- disappeared. He said he didn't know where it was...

An old thought immediately resurfaces and my face blanks with realization. My eyes causally check my surroundings, before I swiftly toss the bag into fire. I take the note out of my pocket and stick it right on top. I swallow down another lump, nonchalantly tucking some hair behind my ear.

My brows gather at suspicion of a pair of eyes, so I look up and instantly lock eyes with Laura. She stares back and the look on her face unnerves me. It's a subtle, yet clear scrutiny. _She saw me_. Her eyes look past me and she moves on. I watch her go, as if trying to read her mind.

"Chilly?"

I close my eyes at the sound of his voice. "What?"

"I asked if you were chilly?" Negan's presence can be felt by my side, so I open my eyes again. "You're standing by the fire."

"Oh," I nod, "Yeah, it's cold."

He chuckles. "You heard about D over the radio, you fuckin' liar."

I lick my bottom lip, before nodding my head again. "Yeah."

His smile lowers. "You know, I know you think that this...strange ass miracle changes everything, but it doesn't."

I gaze up at him, incredulous. "What?"

"We had an agreement, Anna," He reminds me, "That we'd take care of our baby together, remember?"

"Yes, I remember, but this does change things."

"Bull-fuckin'-shit," Negan scoffs a little loudly, "This doesn't have to a change a fuckin' thing. All you have to do is make that choice."

"I..."

"You and me made a lot of progress these past few months," He cuts me off, "We have common ground now. We want the same things for our baby. A future and a damn good one at that. Are you gonna just fuckin' forget that because Dwight's still kicking?"

I open my mouth, but I'm not sure how to say it.

Negan takes this to his advantage and steps closer. "Nan, baby, think about all that I can give you and our child. Safety, plenty to eat, a warm home, a-"

"A bed in the nursery," I rasp, starting to feel my belly, "So I can take care of the baby, while you lay in bed, undisturbed, with one of your wives."

"You can be my wife." He touches my elbow.

"One of them," I clarify, half-bitter, "I can be one of them."

He looks me over. "Is that what you want? To be more important to me?"

I glance up at him, knitting my brows.

"Because...I can put you up on a goddamn pedestal, if that's what you want. You're already in first place. You got your own room upstairs."

I huff. "I don't want to be put on a pedestal, or...in first place."

"Then what the fuck do you want?" Negan says, very on edge of sounding desperate.

"I...want to be with Dwight," I admit to him, "That's all I ever wanted these past few months, deep down. Now I have that chance again, am I supposed to pass it up?"

Negan runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth, scowling. "So, you're gonna change your mind, just like that?"

I look him over, scoffing. "Did...did you think I was going to tell you yes?"

His eyes bear into me with displeasure.

"You thought I was going to agree to come back to you?" I bite the corner of my lip. "Well, I wasn't."

Negan snickers acridly. "Bullshit."

"No, it's not bullshit," I retort, "I was going to tell you that I'd still like your help, but that I wanted to stay where I am, in Dwight's room."

He morosely stares. "You were really gonna say no?"

"Yes," I nod my head, earnest, "I appreciate everything you've done for me and all that you want for my baby, but I...can't repay you that way."

The revving of several engines stills my heart. _They're here; he's here_. I turn my head towards the door and then back to Negan. I want to say more, but half of me is already outside.

I go to walk away, but Negan catches me by the arm. "Nan, wait."

I remove my arm from his hand and look at him.

"Don't do this," He shakes his head, "Don't make it have to be the ugly way."

I raise my brows, curious, but mild. "I know you want to be there for my child, but I-"

" _Our_ child, Nan." He tilts his head, as if to convey for me to level with him.

I stare at him. "No, I never said the baby was yours."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes," I adamantly say, "I said I didn't know who the father was. _You_ said our child, not me."

"And so, what, darlin'?" He chuckles. "Dwight gets to be the daddy, because you fuckin' say so?"

Just as I'm about to shout yes, the doors open and some Saviors from the east outpost come in, immediately grabbing things to load into their trucks. I don't let the moment slip from me; I make a move to the door.

"This conversation isn't fucking over." Negan pulls me back.

"Yes, it is." I free my arm again, this time hurrying off.

I push past the Saviors coming through the open doors. I can see the trucks all parked inside the gates, as well as more Saviors climbing out. _Where is he?_ My chest starts to get restless when I don't see him. I stop right at the mouth of the cave like hall of lower entrance and stay to the far right to keep out of the way.

I search every body out in the yard. _Where is he?_ I don't see him. I rest my hand on my stomach, getting a little disheartened. What if this isn't real? What if I haven't woken up from the nap I took earlier? My thumb is a bloody mess as I anxiously pick at it, still looking for him. It hurts, so I must not be asleep, unless that's all a load of crap.

I tip up on my toes to see if I can cover more ground, but I still don't get even a glimpse of him. Finally, I put my hand out as a Savior walks by.

"Hey," I stop him, "Did Dwight come back with you?"

"D?" The guy looks back. "Yeah, he's over there."

I try to follow his gaze, but I realize he means beyond what I can see from here. "Thanks."

 _One-two-three-four-five_. I walk out of the shade and my heart pounds as more men come into sight. I start to step forward to go find him amongst them and part of me's nervous.

"Nan?"

I turn my head to the left and look up. Everything stills. I don't believe my eyes. Dwight's standing mid-step on the concrete stairs with his hand on the yellow railing, staring right at me. It's really him. _He's alive_.

A severe, blunt whistle pries my eyes off him and back to the mouth. Negan stands right where I stood with a humorless scowl on his face.

"Inside," He tersely demands, "Now."

I look up at Dwight, before walking towards Negan. I almost run when I see him go back to climbing the steps to the upper level entrance. I basically ignore Negan as I go inside, desperate to meet up with Dwight. By time I make it in, I see him coming down the yellow stairs nearest to me.

I pause as his feet touch the factory floor. Dwight stops for a minute, too, a little hesitant, but then starts for me. My heart's going mad with anticipation. I meet him halfway and before I know anything, we embrace. Tears swell in my eyes at the feel of his arms holding me tightly.

"Well..." _No!_ Negan's voice shatters me. "Long time, no fuckin' see, Dwight."

Dwight nods as he loosens the hug, unsure of what to make of Negan's tone. "Yeah."

"What's up?" Negan raises his hands in question. "Where've you been? We thought you kicked the fuckin' bucket that night in Alexandria."

Dwight blinks to me for a moment, before addressing Negan. "Yeah, no, I, uh, I got shot and ran into the woods after they opened fire on us."

"And what?" Negan inquires. "Birds ate your trail of breadcrumbs and you forgot your way home?"

"No, they captured me and took me back to the tunnels beneath Alexandria." Dwight explains, "We were moving to the Hilltop, when they stopped to clear a hoard. When they were distracted, I took my chance and ran."

Negan studies him, as if deciding whether or not he's telling the truth. "Laura said you were gone when she ran off."

Dwight looks somewhere and when I follow his gaze, I see he's looking right at Laura. "Yeah, I lost a lot of blood and passed out. I didn't wake up until they already had me down in the sewer."

"They want intel?"

D shrugs. "Nah, I think they were just keeping me for bargaining. They knew I wasn't gonna tell 'em shit."

Negan nods, then breaks into a chuckle. "Well, welcome home, Dwighty boy! I for one am fuckin' happy as balls to have one of my tops guys back alive."

"I'm glad to be back." Dwight replies.

"I bet you are," Negan points to me, "And don't worry, I took good care of Nan while you were gone. Kept her nice and healthy for the baby's sake. Made sure all her needs were met."

Shame stabs me in the gut and I try to convey both an apology and explanation with my eyes.

"Well, I'm sure you're due for a hot shower and a decent meal," Negan adds, "Before you and Nanette sit down and catch up. Let her fill you in on the last couple months." He looks at me and grins. "Glad to have ya back, D."

Negan stalks off to go give orders about the bullet factory.

I pick my gaze from the floor and back to Dwight. "...Hi."

"Hey." He greets back.

I wring my hands, shy. "You-you're alive."

"Yeah."

I suddenly am aware of eyes on the two of us. "Um, are you hungry?"

He nods his head. "Yeah."

I nod, nervous. "Okay." I walk towards the stairwell, trusting that he'll follow me, which he does.

I don't know what to say and I don't know why. I've never been good at this sort of thing. Dwight isn't far behind me as we go up the stairs and through the second floor halls. I want to slow down, or let him know that he can walk side by side with me, but I don't. The halls are thankfully empty, so it makes it less of an ordeal to get to our room.

I open the door and walk in, waiting for him to close the door, before I turn around. _Say something, stupid._

Once he shuts it, he looks at me. "You cut your hair."

I touch the ends of my hair. "Yeah."

Dwight wipes his hand down the inside of his jeans. "It looks good."

"Thank you," I notice the blood on his tattered sleeve, "Are you still hurt?"

"No, no, it healed," He clears his throat, "It's just the shirt."

I nod my head.

He looks behind me. "You got a bed."

I refrain from glancing back at it. "Um, yeah, Negan gave it to me. For my back...it was aching."

Dwight nods, still looking at the bed. "Cool."

I swallow down the lump that keeps forming. "I thought you were dead."

He blinks back to me. "I'm sorry. I would've come sooner, if I could."

My smile is meek. "I missed you."

"I...I missed you, too," He replies, trailing down to my stomach, which is sizably different than when he last saw it, "How's the baby?"

"Good, good," I put my hand there, "Everything's going good."

Dwight scratches the back of his wrist. "Do you know what you're having?"

"No...the positioning wasn't right."

"Oh, too bad."

I claw my thumb. Is he upset? "Yeah, but I think I want to wait until the baby's born anyway."

He nods again. "Well, I really need a shower, so I think I'm-"

"Oh, yeah, of course," I go to the cabinet to get him a towel, "Here."

I turn to give it to him and find him over by his empty chessboard. The pieces are back in the armchair. When I got back in this morning after Negan and I's conversation, I picked the board up and let them slide off into the chair. He picks up one of the pieces, a queen I think, and sets it on the board.

"I accidentally knocked it over," I tell him, anxious, "Negan tried to put them back up, but..." I trail off when I realize I brought up Negan when I shouldn't have, "Uh, b-but I knew you had them in a certain place, so I just put them there."

Dwight nods and it nettles me.

"Here's your towel."

He moves forward. "Thanks."

Dwight lingers for a moment, before he goes to the door. Panic leaps in my chest. "Wait!"

He shifts halfway. "What?"

I lower my eyes. "Um, you forgot your soap and shampoo." I tread to the shelves where he keeps both. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Dwight goes to open the door.

"Um..." My voice halts him, "Can I...can I come with you?"

Dwight looks at me, traipsing up my body to my watery eyes, before his nods his head. "Sure."

I smile. "Okay."

We walk together to the showers in the men's bathroom. I want to put my arm through his, but I'm honestly a little afraid he'll pull away. God, what he must think. The bathroom is empty, mostly because the guy who monitor's the water has left for the evening. He leaves earlier than he's suppose to more often than not. That's why the workers who use the showers try to get in in the morning. While they're not suppose to, Savior just turn on the water themselves if they need to.

I sit over by where the valve is, so I can turn the water on for him when he's ready. Dwight takes off his ruined flannel shirt, crumpling it up and tossing it to the floor. He then removes the shirt he had underneath, also ruined with blood. I feel so bashful, like I shouldn't be watching him, even though we're...together and I've seen him naked before. He kicks off his boots and then strips down his jeans and his boxers. He steps into the shower tall, closing it behind him.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

I turn on the water that shoots out from the top. He squeezes his eyes shut as the water hits his face. After rubbing his eyes, he slicks his hair back. Dwight stands for a few minutes, just letting the water pour over him. I spy his soap and shampoo on the bench, so I get up and walk over.

"Here."

"Thanks."

I step back from the shower that sprays a few droplets of water on me. I sit on the bench, tucking one leg under me. Dwight doesn't seem phased by me being here as he washes up. I have so much I want to say and ask, but I find my self tongue-tied, afraid. I didn't imagine our reunion being this way.

When I first heard he was dead, I was in denial. My days were spent entertaining the idea that he was out there and would return soon. This isn't how I pictured it. I thought we'd embrace, which we did, but I thought he'd kiss me and we'd go back to our room, where we'd hold each other and everything would be okay.

But I think he knows. Hell, I know he knows, thanks to Negan. I feel so ashamed. I only did it, because I thought it was what was best for my baby. And because I thought he was dead. I thought it was what he'd want me to do, if he died. I was moving on, trying to let go. I never pictured what would happen if he came back, because I didn't expect him to at this point.

Are we gonna go right back to where we started? Distant and awkwardly looking about the room, until one of us makes a proposal of sex? Sex that's just what it is. No, it can't be that way.

 _One-two-three-four-five._ I look down at my hands. "We kissed."

Dwight turns his head my way. "What?"

Tears fill my eyes. "Negan and I kissed last night."

He looks at me, but says nothing.

"And I...I slept in his bed, but that's it, Dwight," I force myself to make eye contact with him, "We didn't have sex, no matter what he tries to insinuate. We didn't, I mean, he wanted to, but I didn't. And he asked me to move back up there with him, but I told no."

The suds wash off Dwight's body as he stands there, still staring.

I take a breath. "I...I only accepted his help, because I thought you'd want me to and I...I wanted to make sure the baby would be taken care of."

He nods his head, looking down in thought.

I stand up, beseechingly. "Dwight, I know that I made a mistake, but I-"

"You did the right thing."

I gather my brows. "W-what?"

Dwight shrugs his wet shoulders. "You're right, I...I would've wanted you to take care of the baby, even it meant accepting his help."

My eyes well up. "I would've never-"

"It's okay, Nan," He stops me, "You don't have to explain yourself. I've been gone and neither of us knew if I was coming back and you made what you thought was the best choice. I trusted that you would."

"...So, you're not mad at me?"

"No," He shakes his head, "I'm not. I'm just...I'm glad I'm back. I missed you."

A smile breaks across my face right as the water shuts off. Dwight exhales, not ready to get out from under the lukewarm stream that had to feel like heaven.

"Can you hand me the towel, please?"

"I'll turn the water back on."

"That was fifteen minutes," He wipes the water off his beard, "Standard time."

"You can have mine." I go over to the value and turn the water back on in his stall, before he protests.

The water hits Dwight as he glances at me from where I stand. He finally gets back under the showerhead, accepting my fifteen minutes. I tread over to the bench again, peeling off my jacket. I lay it on the bench and remove my...his flannel. He catches sight of me undressing. I slowly, anxiously pull off my shirt and then go from there until I'm completely naked. As I stand before him, his eyes look me over before flickering back to mine. They seem softly inviting.

 _One-two-three-four-five._ I swallow the lump one last time, before I pad over to the stall and open it. My eyes glance over his body right before I step in. He reaches over and closes the door behind me.

I look up at him, unsure of what I should do next as the water pours over me. He moves my wet bangs out of my eyes. I take his hand in mine, which allows him to rest it on the side of my face. Dwight leans down and tenderly kisses me. I return the kiss, as well as its softness. It's subtle, but my heart splits like a glacier and it's like a rapturous geyser pushes out through the cracks. He puts his other hand on the other side of my face and kisses me more deeply, holding it for a second, before he breaks away. I bring his hands down and kiss them.

When I release his hands from mine, he brings them around me and I put my hands to his chest, letting him hold me as closely as possible. I rest my head on his shoulder and I smile when I feel his hands rest on my back and the side of my belly.

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoyed this week's chapter! Thanks for reading. I know for most of you, Dwight's return comes at a great relieve and joy, while some of you may be disappointed lol! But come on, she was gonna choose Dwight :)**

 **And thank you to all you who gave me awesome support for Chapter 52. I was confused, but not angry, by some of the not so happy reviews, or PMs I got over last chapter about Nan's choices and overall character, but I understand that everyone's perspective of her may not always be positive. While I love my OC and her fallibilities, I'm not afraid to have her critiqued or disliked. I also recognize that not all "negative" reactions to last chapter were meant to be taken seriously.**

 **Anywho, thanks again you to those of you who gave me wonderful support and have always given my fic love and kindness! I know I've lost readers before over Nan's choices/character and I may lost some more, but I appreciate those of you that have stood by!**


	54. We'll Figure Things Out

Dwight and I go straight back to our room after the shower. It's a bittersweet air that chills my wet skin as we step out of the stall to dry off and get dressed. I wish we could've just stayed under the tepid water for a little longer, but I'm also anxiously looking forward to getting him back to the room, so we can be alone. So I can know that this is real.

We pass a few people on our way back, most of whom are surprised, but all around glad to see Dwight back. I'm a little taken back by the verbal confirmations of that that he receives from some of them. I guess I hadn't realized how generally liked Dwight was by other Saviors.

As we make it to the door to our room, my eyes catch a glimpse of Laura coming down the hall, presumably heading to Hal's. The small, placid smile wanes on my face as she continues to walk with the same pace and new arch of her brow. Dwight refrains from opening the door when he notices her.

"Look who's alive." She acknowledges curtly.

"Yeah," Dwight nods, "So are you."

Laura huffs through her nose. "Yeah," Her eyes briefly meet mine, before they blink back to Dwight, "Heard you got captured by Rick's group."

"That's right."

She licks her lip, acridly, beginning to nod. "Well, lucky you for getting to live, because everyone else that night got gunned down." Laura moves past the two of us. "Never knew what hit 'em."

I watch her walk away for a moment, before turning back at the sound of the door opening. I go inside behind Dwight, who goes directly to the fridge.

"Don't mind her," I say, shutting the door, "She's been like that since she got back."

He looks over. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," I nod my head, "She came here in the middle of the night, demanding information."

"Information about what?" Dwight asks me.

I casually stroll over to my truck to get my comb, all while remaining observant. "I don't know, she didn't say, she just asked if I 'knew' and then slapped me and left."

"She hit you?"

I shrug. "Yeah, but I pushed her a little, so...it's no big deal."

Dwight turns his head away from my direction and it's not lost on me. He opens up the fridge and peers in. "Where's the beer?"

"I gave it to Eugene," I gently run my comb through my hair, "He sort of needed it and I didn't have much use for it."

He nods, closing the fridge. "Okay."

"Sorry, I...I didn't think you'd be back."

"No, it's okay, don't worry about it." Dwight gets a glass of water from the sink instead.

I smile at the image of him leaning against the sink, drinking back some of the water. It's so normal and easeful. I set my comb down, treading over. "Why don't you sit down and I'll make us something to eat?"

He shakes his head as he drinks, before setting the glass down. "No, I've got it."

"You must be exhausted," I open the door to the fridge, "Let me take care of it, so you can rest."

Dwight considers it. "Okay, fine."

"Good."

"The fridge is looking a little scarce."

"I know."

"Things must be getting really tight around here."

I pull out some things and shut the door. "Yeah..."

"Have you been getting enough to eat?"

"Mhm."

Dwight itches his finger. "Negan?"

"Yeah."

He nods, before going over to the chair. I flick on the camping stove, putting a pan on top of the flame, then adding olive oil.

After dinner, we dress down for bed. I managed to find a shirt to cover my belly comfortably and then put on my shorts. I put my socks on and fold them once below my shins.

I sit down on the bed, watching Dwight peel off his clothes. When he's down to his boxers and a clean shirt, he looks over at me, finally noticing. I offer a small smile, before rising to pull back the blankets. I climb under the covers, working myself over to my side of the bed. I lay on my side, glancing over to him.

His eyes look me over for a moment and then he pads over to the lights and turns them off. Dwight comes over to the bed and it creaks a little as he puts his weight on it. I wiggle back some, just to make sure he's got room.

Dwight lies down and brings the covers up. I smile; it's nice to have that part of the bed filled with more than just a lingering scent of him. I inch closer until we're touching. He smiles, turning to look at me. I brave a hand to the other side of his face, kissing his scars. I continue to kiss him, until he turns to his side and kisses me on the mouth.

We only make out for a minute or so, before he breaks from the kiss and looks at me. His hand delicately tucks some hair behind my ear and his thumb caresses my cheek. I smile again and soon after he brings me closer into his arms. As I lay in his arms, head against his chest, the heaviness of sleep lowers my eyes. This is real.

 **...**

 _"You ready?"_

 _I look down at him in his grave, shovel in hand. "I...I think so."_

 _"Okay," He nods his head, smiling up, "You can do this."_

 _Tears begin to roll in. "I love you, Charlie."_

 _"I love you, Anna."_

 _I smile. "Thanks for staying with me."_

 _"Didn't have much of a choice."_

 _I chuckle with watery eyes, before becoming serious. "So, this is it?"_

 _"I guess so."_

 _I nod my head, wiping a tear off my face. "Okay...I'm ready."_

 _"I know you are." Charlie says._

 _I nod again. "Okay."_

 _The shovel delves into the pile of earth. A whistle raises hair on the back of my neck as it hits the air, but I don't let it get to me, because not a second later, a bird begins to sing._

I stir out of my sleep when I feel the bed dip and then rise, along with the chill from the nippy air that snuck in under the blankets. I pull them up to my shoulder.

"Dwight?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are you going?" I ask him with my eyes closed and my back turned from shifting in my sleep.

"Nowhere," He says with a hoarse voice, "Just to the bathroom."

I nod against my pillow. "Don't be gone long."

He snickers through his nose. "I'll try not to."

I snooze in bed while he's gone. I'm so tired. Carrying around the baby and the extra weight really is starting to take a toll on my energy. Even though my job doesn't necessarily have me on my feet all day, Sanctuary still has all these stairs and winding halls. I think I'm ready to have the baby, just so I can have some relief.

The door opens and closes and I had no clue that time had passed at all as I lay here.

"Dwight?"

"Yeah, I'm back." Dwight answers and I hear the clicking of the stove.

My brows knit a little. "What are you doing?"

"Brewing some coffee." He rifles through the bins below the sink.

"Come lay back down."

"I'm making breakfast."

"It can wait," I murmur, "Come back to bed."

"Alright, let me at least but the coffee on."

Dwight gets back under the blankets after a minute or two, sliding over and putting his arm around me.

"You showered."

"Yeah," He breathes, "I figured I might as well since I was there."

"I missed you."

"I was only gone for ten minutes," Dwight chuckles, "I didn't even take a full shower."

"That's not what I meant."

"...Oh, well, I missed you, too." His hand touches my belly. "Has the baby moved yet?"

"Mhm," I nod, "It moves quite a bit."

He laughs a little under his breath, as if astounded.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just...you're so big. It seems like yesterday you were just starting show...I missed a lot."

"It's not like you had a choice."

His hand slowly smoothes over my tummy. "No." He makes an awkward movement. "It's six-thirty."

"Okay."

"I should get up pretty soon, so I have time to make you breakfast."

"No, just stay in bed."

"We have to get up sometime." He kisses my shoulder.

"No, we don't," I shake my head, "I don't have to collect until three and you should take a day off to recover."

"I'm fine."

"You just got back from being held captive for two months and half months," I retort, "Take a day."

"To lay in bed with you?"

"Yeah." I touch his hand.

Dwight chuckles, kissing my shoulder more endearingly. "I'd like to, but I don't think Negan gives people the day off."

I open my eyes. _Negan._ "He's going to Hilltop tomorrow."

"I know, I heard."

"...You're not going, are you?"

"I am, if that's what Negan wants."

I shift around to face Dwight. "You can't go."

"I might not have a choice." He looks at me, mildly apologetic.

"But...but you just got back," I try not to sound so petulant, "And last time you went, you-"

"It won't be like that this time, Nan."

"How do you know?" I scan his face imploringly.

"Because it won't," He assures me, "It'll be fine."

I look away, a little angry. "That's what you said the last time."

"I know, but it'll be different this time."

"How do you know?"

"Because...they won't know we're coming this time." Dwight says.

I furrow my brows, glancing back at him. "They knew the first time?"

"Enough to know to have an exit strategy."

I study his face. "Because of the mole here?"

"I guess so," Dwight meets my gaze; nonchalantly brushing my bangs back from my eyes. "They ever find out who it was?"

"No," I tell him, still staring, "But it's not like we've done anything really since that night. They haven't done anything either, so I guess there'd be nothing to tell them."

"Guess not." Dwight looks up at the ceiling.

I can't help but to keep inspecting him. "Dwight?"

"Yeah?"

I open my mouth to ask him, when there's a knock on the door. Both of us look to the door, likely sharing the same idea of who it might be. Dwight moves to get out of bed.

"Dwight." I sigh.

"It's not like I have much of a choice." He says as he goes to the door in just his pants. Dwight opens the door.

"Let me just say it again," Negan's voices schmoozes out of sight, "Welcome home, Dwight."

There's a light clinking sound and soon Dwight reaches forward. "Thanks." A case of beer is in his hand.

Dwight opens the door more and Negan strolls on. "It's certainly good to have my levelheaded lieutenant back. Simon's been itching to go all scorched earth lately and I'm in fuckin' need of someone who won't fuckin' argue and stick to the program. " He looks over at me on the bed and his grin falters a bit. "Well, good morning."

"Morning." I murmur.

"I think it's safe to say I won't be seeing you at breakfast."

"Mm-mm." I shake my head.

Negan's piercing gaze appears to assess the situation on the bed. "Isn't this a tale for the ages?" He smirks back to Dwight. "Reunited after months apart."

Neither Dwight nor I say anything to his little snide joke.

Negan chuckles. "Well, I hate to ruin your little game of house, but there is a lot of work to be done for tomorrow."

"Yeah, sounds good." Dwight nods.

"That's my boy," Negan grins, "So, go ahead and pop open a cold one, have Nan whip you up some breakfast, and then get to it."

He looks back at me and I can't help but to scowl at that breakfast comment. "And as for you? I'd like to see you in my office in about two hours, if you don't mind. Shit, what am I talking about? Of course, you don't mind."

Negan leaves the room and my eyes immediately go to Dwight. I feel so utterly obliterated with shame right now. I almost want to apologize to him, but I don't want to sound pathetic, or desperate.

Dwight takes the beer over to the fridge. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"I-I can make breakfast," I move to get out of bed, "Just give me a minute."

"You made dinner last night," Dwight looks over his shoulder, "Let me make breakfast."

I pause at the edge of the bed. "O-okay."

He pours the freshly made coffee into a mug. "What do you want?"

My stomach gurgles. "Whatever's easy."

"Alright."

I rest my hand on my bump. I know it has to drive him up the wall when Negan does that. I know it upsets me. It feels like every kindness Negan showed me is just as easily taken back as it was given. Like it's conditional. I rise from the bed and pad over to him, putting my arms around him.

Dwight stops for a moment, touching my arm. "It's alright, Nan."

I exhale through my nose. "I'm so glad you're back, Dwight."

"Me, too."

I pull back and he turns around to face me. I look at the jagged, bullet-sized scar on his left arm that still looks fresh and I graze my thumb over it. "Is it still tender?"

"No."

I blink up. "Did they treat you badly?"

"No worse than we've treated their people," He answers me, "Hell, maybe even a little better."

I puzzle my brows. "Better? Better how?"

"Uh, you know, they just wanted to prove that they were better than us. They patched up my wound and gave me human food."

I nod. "Oh, okay." My eyes traipse his bare skin as I try to make sense of that. I hug him again, sighing. "You should just stay here. Negan be damned."

Dwight pulls me in his arms. "Yeah, well, if you want to tell him that, be my guest, but I'll be fine just going to work."

I chuckle. "We could spend the day in bed together...catching up."

He rubs my back. "Maybe if we lived elsewhere."

"Yeah," I breathe, "Maybe."

 **...**

After breakfast, I spend the morning tidying up the room. I don't know why, but when Dwight left to wherever it is he was supposed to go, I felt this wash of anxiety over me that only felt satisfied with cleaning. It's also because I realize that I've been using Dwight's flannels and haven't really kept up with washing them along with my other clothes.

That, and because I know I have to go to the meeting room to see Negan soon. I'd like to say that I don't know what he wants, but unfortunately, I do know. He wants me to reconsider moving back with him. I meant it last night when I told him that I was planning on declining him, without the knowledge of Dwight being alive. I know that's a hard pill to swallow, but he doesn't have a choice but to swallow it.

When the clock on the wall reads five to eight-thirty, I wash my hands and face to get rid of the sweat and smell of cleaner off me. I put some clothes on and leave to go see him.

I listen for a moment by the door, waiting to see if he's talking to anyone inside. When I don't hear anything, I knock.

"Come in."

I open the door and carefully look in, finding him seated in his usual spot.

"Close the door behind you."

I walk the rest of the way in and shut the door.

He has a low smile. "Sit down." He motions towards a chair close to his.

I tread over to the chair and sit. I was going to put my hand on my stomach, but I don't want to draw attention to it.

"How'd you sleep?" Negan dryly asks me. "I'm betting either really good, or hardly at all, right?"

"I slept good."

"Because of D?" He bites his lip. "Did you two have sex?"

I scoff. "You can't ask that."

"So, you did?" He concludes.

"No, we didn't," I roll my eyes, "But even if we had, it's none of your business."

Negan chuckles. "Did you tell him about what went down between you and I?"

"I told him that we kissed and that I slept in your bed, yes." I candidly look at him.

"And he's cool with that?"

"Yes," I tell him, "He understands."

"Understands?" Negan's eyes scan my face. "Understands what exactly?"

"Understands that I was making choices based on believing that he was dead and wanting to provide for my baby."

"Well, what a boy scout," Negan taunts, "I don't know if I'd be so 'understanding' if I found out my pregnant girlfriend was sleeping with the boss. Even if the boss is the who fathered the kid."

"Well, maybe he's a better man than you."

"Maybe so," He amuses, "But I'm better in bed."

I look to the side, very lightly shrugging with some doubtful insight.

He sticks his tongue in his cheek. "So, you slept with me just for the benefits?"

"I agreed to work with you so my child could have benefits," I clarify, "I kissed you and spent the night because of Carl and-"

"Carl?" Negan scoffs. "What the fuck does Carl have to do with you crawling into bed with me?"

"You were upset and you asked me to stay," I nearly snap, "I was trying to comfort you."

"Oh, so I should be upset more often then, huh?" He chuckles.

I scowl. "It wasn't like that and you know it."

"And the kiss?" He raises his brows. "And the morning after?"

"I...I don't know," I look down, "I got swept up by your words and for a minute I thought about giving this another chance."

"This?" His eyes grow keener.

I exhale. "You and I."

"You said you were gonna turn me down."

"I was and I did," I tell him, "Because..."

"Spit it the fuck out."

"Because I didn't like the nursery!" I shout, glancing up at him. "I lied when I said I did. I didn't like it."

"Well, why the fuck not?" Negan demands to know.

"Because you planned for it, before Dwight disappeared," I hotly retort, "Or was it after he didn't come back?" Negan grimaces at me. "Either way, you did all of that without asking me."

"I didn't need your fucking permission."

"Maybe not, but you still prepared for my return, months before we ever found common ground," I fire back, "You already decided that I would come back, before you even asked me yesterday." I scratch my thumb. "Did you think I'd say yes, because of all your speeches, or did you think I'd say yes because I'm a whore?"

Negan glides his tongue along his teeth. "I figured you'd say yes, because the baby's not-"

A sudden knock grabs his attention toward the door.

"What?"

"We're all ready to go to the outpost when you are, sir."

"Alright, I'll be down and out in a minute."

"Roger that."

I glance at the scratched up table. "You're going to the factory where Frankie and Tonya are at?"

"Yes, to check on operations."

I nod my head. "Can I go now?"

"Yeah," Negan sighs, "But Nan?"

I halt where I stand.

"This conversation isn't over," He tells me, "We're gonna pick it up later and because decisions, _big_ decisions still have to be made."

 **...**

"Thanks." I say as I take one worker's points summary for the day. I look up from my clipboard when he doesn't walk off right away.

"...Uh, have a good night."

"Oh, uh, thanks," I tell him a little surprised, "You, too."

I don't know what that was fully about, but at least it wasn't something mean. I go to Lillian's quarter to see how she's doing. She's sitting down, reading and rocking ever so slightly.

"Hey, Lillian." I wave, "How are you feeling?"

"I warned them not to, but they didn't listen," She murmurs under her breath, not paying me any mind, "Now look."

I knit my brows. "Are you alright?"

"That bird," She rocks, "I saw it's shadow, it can't be there. It can't come in, I told him that, but he wouldn't listen. It can't be there. I want it out."

"Lillian, that bird is dead," I tiredly sigh, "It...fell off the roof, trying to fly."

"I told them not to, but she begged me and it's my fault she had to married him," Lillian continues to mutter, "My fault. Me, it-it's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Lillian," I try to comfort her, "It's... _his_ fault."

"His?" She looks up at me with a despairing furrow. "H-his fault?"

"Yes," I do my best to get down on my knee, "He saw the advantage of you being sick and used it to get Amber to agree to marry him."

"He?" Lillian asks, confused.

"Yes," I get a closer to whisper, "Negan."

I jump a little when she suddenly grips my arm. "The tyrant will always find a pretext for his tyranny."

I search her vacantly serious eyes. "Lillian, let go of me."

"The tyrant will always find a pretext for his tyranny."

"Lillian!" Mark's suddenly behind me. "Let go of her!"

She looks up at him and then down at where we connect. Her brows knit, bewildered as she lets go. "I apologize."

"It's okay." I say, patting her hand.

"'Hope' is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul," She tells me, as if it's a warning, "It can't be here. Make it go away."

Perplexed, I nod my head. "Okay."

I get up with Mark's unwarranted help and watch as she goes back to reading, or more so looking it over as she goes back to rocking.

"Sorry," Mark apologizes, "She's not been doing so well."

"Is she still getting the medicine for her lungs?"

"Yeah, it's been really effective," Mark informs me, "She hasn't been coughing as much. It's her mental health I'm worried about."

"Yeah..."

"I don't know what happened but she was doing really well, up until two days ago," He goes on, "She started talking about the bird again."

I rub my arm. "Yeah, I know."

Mark looks at me. "You visit her a lot. Has she been alright? I mean, until this point?"

"Um, yeah, yeah, she's been fine," My eyes spy Marisol turning into her quarter, "Listen, I gotta go, but I'll...I'll check on her later to make sure she's okay."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Mark smiles.

I smile back, before walking over to Marisol. She's putting some stuff that she got from the commissary away. She seems agitated in her aloof way.

"Hey."

"Hey." She greets without looking at me.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay. You?"

"I'm...pretty good."

"Oh, yeah, D's alive," She remembers, "You must be over the moon, huh?"

"Uh, yeah, I am," I furrow my brows, "Are you alright?"

"Fine."

"Fine fine, or not fine, but 'fine'?"

"What?" Marisol gazes up, puzzled.

"You seem bothered."

"Oh," She looks back to her stuff, "Um, it's nothing, it's just...Simon's been pestering me again."

"Oh? About what?"

She shakes her head. "He said if I wanted to, after I have the babies, we could go back to our previous arrangement. So long as I lose the baby weight." She chuckles bitterly to herself. "Fucking asshole."

"He's agreeing to help you?"

"No," Marisol scoffs, "He still wants nothing to do with the babies. Hell, he doesn't even know that I'm having twins, or doesn't acknowledge it. He just wants to fuck me whenever it's convenient for him."

"Oh." I nod. That sounds more likely.

"Look, I hate to ask you this, but do you think you could maybe ask Negan to tell him to lay off?" She glances my way. "He's been sort of aggressive."

"Aggressive?"

"Yeah, like when he wants to talk to me and I try to ignore him," She bites her lips, "He's been pulling me back by the arm, or stopping me against a wall. I just want him to leave me alone. You think you could talk to Negan?"

"I-I don't know if I have anymore favors to ask," I reveal to her, "Negan's not really happy with my decision to stay with Dwight."

"Oh...well, then never mind."

"But it doesn't hurt to ask," I suggest to make her feel better, "It technically would be doing you a favor, not me."

"It's okay, don't worry."

"No, no, I'll...I'll ask." I smile.

"Okay, thanks."

"Sure," I look down at my clipboard, "Well, I should go take these to Reed."

"Yeah, see ya."

"See ya." I leave with a bad taste in my mouth.

I knew Simon was an asshole, especially because of Marisol, but I don't understand why he's harassing her like this. He told her he was cutting her lose after she said she was keeping the babies, so why the hell is he demanding her attention? Does he really think she'd get into bed with him after how he's treated her?

"I've got the logs." I go into the office.

"Good, set 'em down." Reed nods to the desk.

"You want me to stay?"

"No, you're good," He dismisses me, "Oh, but hey!"

"What?"

"Have you, uh, inquired about that little note?"

I look at him. "Oh, uh, yeah."

"And?"

I shrug. "And nobody knows anything."

"Or isn't admitting to knowing anything."

"Either way, I thin-"

"Either way?" Reed scoffs. "No, not 'either way', Nan. We need to know if there's something going on."

"If you'd let me finish," I roll my eyes, "I was going say that if there was something going on, it's over now."

"How the fuck do you figure?"

"I told them that Negan wanted to know about it," I lie to him, "They think Negan knows, so whoever wrote that note, if it meant anything, is going to stop."

He arches a brow. "If Negan knew, he'd be public about it."

"Not if he found out just as he was leaving for the outpost and asked me to seek out the culprit while he was gone."

"I don't know, Nan," Reed sighs, "That doesn't-"

"Look, it does matter if it's something he'd do, or not," I interrupt, "They believed it and besides, most of them were genuinely confused by the note, so I doubt there's some sort of uprising under the floorboards."

I turn around to leave. "See you tomorrow."

 **...**

When I get back to the room around five, I spot Dwight over by the kitchenette.

"Oh, you're...home."

"Yeah." He nods, slicing a pickle lengthwise.

I set down my backpack with all the food I got from the commissary. "I thought you went with them to check out the bullet factory?"

"No, I stayed behind," Dwight looks over, "What's all that?"

"Some groceries," I chuckle, "It's a little bare in here, so I just grabbed some stuff from the commissary."

"Oh," He nods again, "Okay."

"What are you making?" I curiously look over.

"Some sandwiches for dinner," He tells me, "How many do you want?"

"Two," I take out the food from my backpack, "And a half."

"And a half?" Dwight raise a brow, "You want two whole sandwiches and one half sandwich?"

"Yes," I smile, "I'm eating for two and we're really hungry. You can have the other half."

"Gee, thanks." He chuckles.

He finishes making the sandwiches twenty minutes later. We sit down like we did before he left; one of us in the arm chair, the other on the bed. I forgot how skillful Dwight is at making sandwiches. I really don't know what he does, but every time I sink my teeth into my sandwich, I'm near rapture, but that could just be the hormones riling up.

What's even better is that he made them the way I asked, which even I'll admit is bizarre. I just had a sudden craving to have my BLT with pickles to have peanut butter and jam on both sides.

"Mm," I dip a corner of my sandwich into some peanut butter and jam concoction I made on my plate, "This is way better than whatever they're serving upstairs."

He snickers. "Thanks," Dwight takes a bites of his sandwich, "So, you ate up there a lot, huh?"

"Mhm," I wipe some schmear from the corner of my mouth, "But it was uncomfortable most of the time." I stand up from the chair. "Do we have syrup?"

"Uncomfortable?"

I open the fridge. "Yeah, because Negan's been short with all his wives and always ruined a perfectly good conversation."

"Oh."

I drizzle some syrup over my sandwiches. "But that's just living with Negan for you." I close the refrigerator and go sit back down.

Dwight nods, glancing way. "What's all that?"

I follow his gaze, while biting into another half of my sandwich. "Oh, Frankie made some stuff for the baby."

"What happened to all that stuff we brought back from the outpost? The crib and the clothes? Did they ever go back for the rest?"

I stop chewing, swallowing hard. "Um, Negan has it. He had the wives fix up one half of a room to be a nursery."

"What's on the other half?"

I look up at him, sheepishly. "The other half...would technically be for me, if I agreed to be his wife again."

Dwight huffs under his breath, before taking another bite of his sandwich.

I suddenly lost my appetite. "But...it doesn't matter. I already have a laundry basket made up for a bed."

He peers over to the little laundry basket with soft linens carefully laid over and inside. "Yeah, I saw that."

I scratch my thumb. "Maybe when he cools off and comes to some sense, he'll give it all to us."

"Doubt it," Dwight chews, a little irritable, "He'd keep it out of spite."

"Yeah...that does sound more like him."

"Besides, we don't have room for it all."

My eyes look about the room. "We'd have room for the crib at least. The clothes can go in the cabinet of there."

"Yeah, but with that and the bed, it cuts our leg room in half."

I bite my lip, peeling off a shred of flaky skin. "Well, we could give you up the bed," I set my plate down on the end table and stand up, "I only needed it for my back." I sit down beside him, "Once the baby's here, I won't need it anymore."

Dwight looks at me. I smile softly. His eyes assess my attempt to demurely apologize and he sighs. "Nan, I'm not angry with you."

"...I know."

"Then you know you don't have to do...that."

"Do what?"

"This," He motions a finger between him and I, "You don't have to...do anything to make me happy."

My smile softens even more, but with a little embarrassment. I look forward and towards the ground. "I know."

He takes one of my hands and I smile back up at him.

"Charlie use to say the same thing," I confess, "When I'd..." I clear my throat, "And, um, I always knew it was true, but I've always had this jittery nervousness to please the people that I've wronged, or upset. Because I didn't want them to be mad at me."

"You haven't wronged me," Dwight tells me, giving my hand an assuring squeeze, "And I'm not disappointed in you."

"I know, but my mom...she was always so hard on me that I just...am wired to want to make people I care about want me and...to want me to be a point of comfort...and to not ice me out."

"What about you?" He asks. "If you're always the point of comfort, then where do you turn to when you need to be comforted?"

I look down in thought, unable to answer. "Um, I don't know. I guess I just figured that if I could make people forgive and love me again, or feel comforted, that I would get my own sense of comfort from that."

"But you use sex to cope when you're upset," Dwight says, "That's what you said before."

"Well, yeah, but that's a relief in some sense, right?" I look at him.

 _Is it?_ I don't really know. It's always something I've done with hastful disquietude, or just because I want to. I can't recall if I've ever felt comforted, or less anxious afterwards.

"Not if it's just to make someone happy, or less angry at you. Look, take it from me, trying to please your way back into someone's good graces doesn't dignify you," He tells me, "It only degrades you and the people who accept it are shit, because they know it and they don't care."

I almost want to cry. Not because he's hurt my feelings, but because he's right. Everyone I've ever tried to please that has smiled at my humble, doglike affection has degraded me and torn from me my personhood.

"I guess it's hard," I rasp, "It's hard to think that people who you cared about, or...tried to care about would see you vulnerable and not offer you warmth."

"Yeah..." Dwight exhales, "But you don't have to be like that, Nan. Not with me."

I smile, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"I mean, if you say something shitty or do something wrong, say you're sorry," He adds and it makes me giggle, "But that's all you owe someone. Nothing else."

"No amends?" I sweetly chuckle.

"Sex isn't an amends."

"Aw, it's kind of an amends," I joke, which makes him snicker below his breath, "At least, it's the best part after 'I'm sorry' and one thing I'm particularly good at."

He laughs. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," I breathe out, "I know what you mean...and I appreciate you saying that."

Dwight kisses the top of my head. "We'll figure things out."

"Yeah..." I sigh.

 **...**

The next morning, I wake up blissfully. I'm instantly reminded that Dwight's alive and here with me and it makes a smile ease across my face. I feel rejuvenated and light. It just doesn't seem real, or something that would at all be my luck to have happen. Dwight moves in his sleep, bringing himself a little closer. And yet, it is real and it is some type of fortunate circumstance.

"Are you awake?" I whisper.

"Mhm." He confirms.

"Good morning, sunshine."

"Morning," Dwight rasps back, "What time is it?"

"It's early," I report, "We can lay here together for a little while longer, before you have to go."

He groans mildly as he stretches out of sleep. "I gotta get up. I gotta make breakfast and get ready to go."

"What else is there to do, but make breakfast and go?" I inquire.

"I gotta pierce my bolts through some dead ones."

I puzzle my brows, looking over my shoulder. "What?"

"That's Negan's plan."

I think about it for a minute. Negan's plan? "You're still gonna go?"

"Yeah."

I bite my lip. "Even if I ask you not to?"

"It'll be fine, Nan," Dwight strokes my leg, "And you know I don't have a choice."

"If you stay, we can have sex."

He sleepily chuckles and so do I. "Are you trying to bribe me?"

I smile, turning myself around. "No, I missed you," I tuck some hair behind his ear, "The only thing better than makeup sex is 'I missed you' sex."

Dwight smiles more and opens his eyes. "Yeah, but you're pregnant, Nan. Like _really_ pregnant."

"So?"

"So, isn't it risky?"

"Only if we're not careful," I kiss him, "We'll be careful."

"I don't know," He yawns, rubbing his eye, "I think we better wait."

"Until after I have the baby?"

"Yeah."

"You know it'll be at least six weeks before I can have sex again, right?"

"So?"

I look at him...amazed by his genuine lack of care.

He laughs. "What?"

"You and I are different people, Dwight."

Dwight laughs more, before kissing me on the lips. "I'm gonna make breakfast."

 **...**

I stand out on the top of the stairs, staring out at the scene. The dead chained to our repaired fences being ripped open, viscera plopping out onto the ground. I can smell it from here, I already threw up over on the left side of the stairs. Steam from breath both alive and dead heaves into the air. I watch as Saviors run their machetes, knives, spears, and other non-firearm weapons through the blood and entrails, as well as along the flesh of the unaffected rotters.

This is Negan's plan? I turn my focus on him standing on this side of the fence, giddy as a schoolgirl, saying something to Simon who's spoiling a knife with some guts. Dwight didn't tell me what the plan was, but I'm smart enough to figure it out on my own.

Fence workers infect some weapons for some Saviors that are too fucking lazy to do it themselves. Laura and Hal are over by one dead one together. He looks up and meets eyes with mine. From this distance, I try to convey how wrong I know he knows this is, but I'm not sure how effective it is.

"Well, well, well," Negan comes my way, "Aren't you just a fucking rule breaker lately? Is that you?" He points to the small amount of vomit. "That's an accident waiting to happen, if that shit freezes on my fuckin step.

I glance at him, not amused. "You're gonna infect the people of Hilltop?"

"Just a graze, or a scratch will do." He proudly smiles.

"But they'll get sick and die."

"Yes, they will," Negan agrees, "But not while we're around."

"And doing this will do what?" I shrug, "Deplete their numbers?"

"Look at you catching on all quick and shit," He chuckles, "Yes, my dear, it will. We gotta make this a war of attrition, if we want a speedy end to all this."

I nod, unpleased. "Whatever."

"Whatever?" Negan scoffs. "I thought you wanted the war to end, so the future could begin?"

I shrug my shoulders again. "Not this way; not the way that has people getting sick and dying." My mind flashes back to Charlie in that bed towards the end. "Do you know what it's like to watch that happen?"

Negan's smile shrinks until it vanishes into something that faintly resembles sadness. He looks towards the fences, where some workers shovel blood and guts into a white bucket.

"It doesn't have to be like this," I add, peering over at the same sight, "You don't have to let this happen."

He glances my way.

"Compromise with them," I suggest, "All they want is to live in peace, so give them that."

"You know that comes at the price of me being dead, right?" He huffs. "Of Rick cutting me up every which fuckin' way and making an example out of me?"

"Not if you end this now, peacefully," I argue, taking a step towards the stairs,"How can there be a future made out of that?" I motion my head towards this sick looking ritual. "What kind of future is that for a child? A future that...that's foundation is blood, and viscera, and stench of death? Standing on the backs of others?"

Negan scowls, but he doesn't say anything.

I tread forward a little more, beseeching. "You're better than this, Negan."

His eyes meet mine, intense and stubborn. "Go inside, Nan. It's cold out."

"Look, Negan, I know you're pissed at me, but-"

"That wasn't a fuckin' suggestion," He cuts me off sharply, "Get inside."

I close my lips, disappointed, but I go inside anyway. As I do, I catch sight of Dwight rolling his bike around to where they're usually parked. I can get to there without Negan knowing, so I do.

"Hey."

Dwight leans the bike on its kickstand. "Hey."

"Did you change your mind about going?"

"No," Dwight shakes his head, walking over to me, "I'm just riding with Simon instead."

"Why?"

"Because that's what Negan wants."

"Oh," I look at his crossbow slung over his shoulder, "Dwight..."

"It's okay, Nan." Dwight pulls out his pack of cigarettes.

"No, it's not," I deny, "It's vile."

"It's okay," He repeat, fishing for his lighter, "Trust me."

"Dwight-"

"Nan." He looks at me with adamant eyes and an unlit cigarette between his lips. He softly, but surely takes both sides of my face in his hands. "Don't worry, alright? I promise it'll be okay."

I put my hands on his wrists, uneasy. "How do you know what? How can you promise that?"

Dwight's eyes scan my face, as if contemplating what he should tell me, until he looks down. "Just trust me, alright?"

"But you said this the last time."

"Yeah, and I was right, wasn't I?" Dwight asks.

"You were captured and held prisoner for two and a half months. What if that happens again?"

"It won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because they didn't have a choice the last time! She ran off and I didn't know..." He stops himself short, "I...I didn't know if she'd listen."

My eyes begin to furrow. "W-what?"

Dwight stares at me, trying to think of what he's said and what to say next.

A light bulb flickers back on in my head. One that I recall flickered months ago with the short-lived friendship of Eugene and was dusted off a day and a half ago with the burning of that messenger bag.

"Dwight?" I break the short silence. "What have you-"

"Alright, let's get a move on!" Arat orders over the radio. "We're moving out!"

Dwight glances down at the radio on his belt and then back at me.

"Dwight." I mildly warn.

"I gotta go," He plants a hasty kiss on my lips, before breaking apart from me, "I'll see you when we get back."

"No, Dwight, wait!" I grab his sleeve. "We need to talk about this!"

"I have to go, Nan," Dwight gets loose from my grip, walking backwards towards the front, "I'm sorry, but they're leaving and I gotta go with 'em."

"Dwight!"

"We'll talk later, I promise!"

"Dwight!" I scoff as he disappears around the corner. "Fuck."

I go back inside and beeline my way to the stairs. There's a sub-roof on the third story that can see out the road they're about to take. It doesn't really have a purpose, except the occasional guard tower, but it's unoccupied now, so it won't be hard for me to get there.

Sweat from all the climbing slides down my face and back by time I get to the roof, but the cold breeze mellows out the redness I can feel in my face. A line of trucks go down the road that'll lead them westward, where I imagine Hilltop must be. I stand there, catching my breath, while both lamenting and cursing that I can't stop them. That I can't stop Dwight, or Hal from infecting those people. That I couldn't get through to Negan and get him to reconsider.

Just as I go to turn to go back in, my eye spies a figure on the free side of the gates. It's Negan by a car smaller than the trucks in front of him. He appears to be watching them go, while resting his arm on the open door of the car. What's he doing? It doesn't look like anyone's accompanying him.

The last truck goes by and I can see that Simon's the driver. Shit, I forgot to ask Negan about him for Marisol. Dwight must be in the passenger's seat. I hope he returns safely this time. Especially, since we have a lot to talk about when he gets back.

When the last truck passes him, Negan takes his arm off the door and goes to get in. Just before he does, he pauses and his eyes appear to focus on something this way. Me? I knit my brows. It has to be me; he's looking right in my direction. I stare back as intensely as is possible to from this distance. I want him to think about it. I want him to stop thinking about all that he has and think about the future.

Finally, he looks away, getting into the car and shutting the door. The car starts and rolls forward, tagging behind the last truck about three car lengths. I can't be for certain, but I think he looks my way again as he drives by.

I sigh, putting my hand on tummy and leaving where I stand to go back in to the factory. A bird chirps someplace beyond me, beyond the Sanctuary, but I can hardly think on anything else except the fathers of my child.

 **...**

After walking for about an hour in the cold, the two men finally come across the car. It's totaled, flipped over a few yards away. By the curb, the SUV that knocked the car off the path and must have chased him all this way is stopped by a telephone pole.

The two men run up to the turned over car. The scarred man gets down on one knee and peers into the vehicle. There's blood everywhere and the roof is crunched nearly to the floor.

"Well?"

"He's not in here," The man stands, "There's blood, but that could be from the bucket he had."

"He could still be around here," The mustached man vaguely peers around, "Alive, or dead. Maybe somewhere in between."

"Yeah, whoever took him out is gone, too," The other says, "They might be in there." He nods to the build a few feet away.

"Right, right, they might be," The man smoothes over his mustache in thought, "We could look for him some more...or we could head back with the distasteful acknowledgement that our leader is...gone. Likely dead."

The scarred man's eyes furrow and he looks over. "What? You don't want to go check?"

"Yeah, we could do that, Dwight," The right hand man steps closer, "Find him in whatever state he's in. Or, we could move on."

"Move on?"

"Yes, move on," He nods seriously, "Think about it, D. About what we just talked about earlier. Negan lost sight of what's in the best interest of the Saviors. We survive, that's our way, and he was driving us into the ground chasing after lost causes."

The scar faced man takes out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"We could turn this whole thing around. Cut ties with those who don't get the message and expand out; build new relationships."

The man scoffs, putting a cigarette in his mouth. He knew Simon wasn't the trustworthy right hand, Negan thought he was. Simon's not trustworthy period.

"We could change our history, Dwight," The man persists, "It could be something we could tell our grandchildren about."

He takes the cigarette from his mouth and exhales, glancing back over.

"It won't be long now, until that little girlfriend of yours gives birth, am I right?"

He pauses just before he takes another drag from his cigarette.

"You can have a future with her," The man cajoles, "Raise your family without any loud-mouthed interruptions, or...forceful separations."

The scar faced man takes a drag, thinking about her. About how Negan preyed on her when he was gone. About the nursery upstairs.

"All we have to do is move on."

He licks his lips and glances down at the beacon like end of the cigarette. The smell from the pool of gasoline becomes acute under his nose. He rolls the cigarette between his fingers, until his middle finger rests behind it. It'd be that easy. Just a quick flick of his cigarette and they could move on. Not him and Simon; he couldn't give a flying fuck about him. The Hilltop can do whatever with him when this is all done.

She and him could move on. They could be a family. The same thing that's been irking him for the past few months surfaces, like it had last night. Similar to something Sherry had once said.

"So, what's it gonna be?"

He stares at the cigarette. She'd be better off this way, safer. He inhales and when he exhales, his fingers flick the cigarette towards the gasoline.

Fire ignites immediately.

 **...**

His brows start to gather as he becomes aware of the air on his face. His head rattles against something he can't quite make out. The man opens his heavy eyes, furrowing his brows further as he starts to comes back into consciousness. _Where the fuck?_ He's in a car. His memory gathers back up and he's suddenly reminded.

He turns his head to find out who's driving the car he's in. You got to be fucking kidding. To his surprise, it isn't Rick. He weakly smiles, still a little dazed. "Well, shit."

The woman fiercely looks at him. "Shut up."

She makes a swift, blunt motion and like that, he's out like a light.

* * *

 **Again, thank you all for the wonderful support!**

 **MadXHatterX94: I'm glad you like Dwight and Nan's relationship. I enjoy writing them together, because I feel he's easier for Nan to let her guard down with, so it's always easy to write these cute, tender moments. And yes, the Laura/Dwight drama will be awfully opportunistic for Negan.**

 **Guest 1: Yes, I agree; Nan is a bitch, or at least can be when it's necessary and seeing how she's up against Negan, I think it's necessary, especially because when he offered to put her in first place like a trophy and because he thinks and has always thought she was an easy in. I feel her assertiveness is justified, certainly when it comes to her right to choose who she wants be or not to be with.**

 **Moorish Woe: Welcome back! I'm so happy you love Nan, flaws and all! I know she can be annoying sometimes, but I feel that makes her more realistic a character. You're right, she's "fucking flawed" and is still struggling to grow out of some her insecurities and complexes, which she seems to be doing better at through this pregnancy and her growing dynamics with other characters. Yeah, Negan's kind of an asshole to sort of expect Nan to be kicked to the curb after she told Dwight about their time together. Glad you picked up the story again and enjoyed it.**

 **CLTex: Yeah, she was gonna choose Dwight, no doubt. It surprises me that some people were a little uncertain. I get that Nan and Negan have had some good moments whilst Dwight was away, but I think the entirety of this story should be rather clear on the overall outcome. Negan for sure thinks he's doing good by her, but he's also aware that he wanted her back for more than one reason...hence the bedroom scene that "almost" was. Lol!**

 **StTudnoBright: Things are def getting tense and they're only gonna get tenser! xD**

 **Miss Luny: I know, there seems to be a fifty-fifty divide as to who everyone wants to be the parental father of Nan's baby. There may be some subtle, borderline vague, hinty-hints about who it might be, but who know. *Shrugs* I guess you'll have to wait 'til the baby's born.**

 **Guest 2: I did not know that that was a rule of thumb, or general thing for fanfic descriptions. I changed it, if it will clear up any confusion, or annoyance. I thought Dwight/OC being first was sort of a good enough indication that this was primarily a Dwight fic, as well as the content of the fic, but it's still good to have that knowledge. Thanks for letting me know!**


	55. Things Around Here Are Gonna Get Bad

It's dark and smells like years of rotting garbage in the unit. The man's been in there for what feels like hours, not once making a peep, even after he regained consciousness. It's not usually like him, but with no one to talk to, or no certainty that she's there to hear him, he's silent.

He stopped looking around about an hour ago, no use anyway since he can't see a fuckin' thing, except for the line of light that's going up the entrance. The man knows why he's here, why she stole him right outta Prick's hands and it sure as shit isn't because she wants to fuck him. Although, it would be kinky, given the situation.

He should've known better than to send Simon. He left the meeting room pissed off about the crate from Hilltop and already wanting to kill 'em all and start clean. He should've killed him long ago, after he took the Sanctuary. He knew he had a penchant for just wiping out, instead of working with people.

Now, who the fuck knows what will happen without him there? The workers almost fucking threw the Saviors to the rotters, because Simon couldn't hold it together. The man lies there in the dark, fuming. That's why they didn't come looking for him. Simon probably convinced 'em he was dead.

And what the fuck about Dwight? He thought D would've done the right thing and searched. Then again, him being gone would bump off the competition for her and the baby.

The man's anger stops brewing there. He recalls their little talk before he left, as well seeing her, full with his child on that roof. She's naive as hell about Rick and all those people, but she means well. Wait 'til she hears how he tried to compromise with Rick, gave him a chance to live, and how he still fuckin' turned it down.

The loud, metallic screech of a lock dragging along the door draws his attention. The large panels open, blaring the sun straight into his eyes. The woman blocks the sun as she steps into sight, towering over him. She looks sternly down at him with a supercilious brow.

The man stares up at her, feeling the restraints tighten around him as he tries to lift himself up. "What the fuck?"

The woman picks a rope from off the ground and walks out, pulling him on a cart as she goes.

"No, seriously, what the fuck?!"

 **...**

"Thank you." I meekly smile to the lady who's turn it is to stay and clean the bread station. I tuck the small thing of flour under my arm, while carrying the fresh bread in a basket I found on the top shelf in the closet.

I figured I would make some dinner while waiting for Dwight to get back from Hilltop. There's a chance they won't be back until later tonight, but I'll save him a plate.

The whole thing makes me sick. I hate that Negan's leading a team to the Hilltop to infect people. It's despicable and what's more is I can't believe that Dwight would agree to go. He's been back for two days and is already off to follow Negan's orders again. I know he doesn't really have a choice, but it still irks me, especially since I know something's going on. I fear to even think it.

"Nan."

I glance over to my left, spotting Reed walking up to me. "Hi."

"Hey," He flips back some papers on his clipboard, "I forgot to show this to you this morning."

"Show me what?"

"Medicine is going up in price and so are hot meals and certain things in the commissary," He shows me a list in Negan's handwriting that specifies which items are inflating, "I wrote out a couple of notices for you to post."

"What?" I peer up at him. "This is ludicrous! The workers can't afford these prices."

"It's only temporary, until we get things back in gear, which might be sooner than later."

"Oh, so we charge them an arm and a leg just to survive?!" I raise my voice. "The workers need to eat and get medicine when they need it." I try to hand the list back to him. "I'm not enforcing this."

Reed scoffs. "Yeah, why don't you tell that to Negan?"

"I will," I declare, "Because this isn't right; they can't live like this."

"The workers have it-"

"Don't you dare tell me that they have it good!" I cut him off. "You do the books, you know how much they already struggle to make ends meet. Always have."

He glances around, before staring back at me. "It's a lot better than what they, shit, what everyone had before, so they should be grateful of what they have now."

I roll my eyes, fed up. "Oh, don't give me that either. Negan may have made things better than the last guy, but that doesn't mean the workers don't have fuck all to complain about. They work their fingers to bone, just to be stolen from, or beaten for the little they have."

"Nan." Reed firmly warns me to stop.

"No, what gives the Saviors the right to treat the workers like dogs?"

"They provide shelter and protection to the workers."

"So? The workers provide goods and services to the Saviors."

Reed scowls. "Look, you want to get on a soapbox about this shit, do it when the big guy's here, because I don't have time for this shit."

"I-"

"The strong trample over the weak," He snaps low, getting closer to me, "That's how it is here and you know it. And if you try to get in the way of that; you're gonna get stepped on."

I stare at him, livid. "By you, or Negan?"

He huffs. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

"I saw that list in your room when we did the checks," I clarify, "What happened to the man who lived in quarter 34 before me?"

Reed's eyes scan mine. I don't drop my gaze from his. I'm not backing down on this and if I have to tell that to Negan myself than I will.

The roaring of engines makes us both look back towards the front of the factory. They're back? _So soon?_ I shift forward again, glancing at Reed.

His eyes blink back to mine. "Well, it looks like your chance is here."

Reed walks off to his office. I read the list again, scoffing. This truly is ridiculous. I know things are tight around here, but for Christ's sake, the workers can't go sick and hungry, while the Saviors go to bed with a good bill of health and full bellies. I'm not putting up those stupid notices.

The worst thing I foresee Negan doing is taking me off bookkeeping and if so, so what? My feet, knees, and back are killing me anyway.

The double doors open abruptly and Saviors trudge into the factory. I fold the list and tuck it into the back of jeans. I cross my arms, looking around the faces for Dwight's. Simon stalks in, looking rather pleased, but when I spot Dwight coming in shortly after him, I lose interest and go over.

"Dwight."

He looks away from the person he's talking to and turns. "Hey."

"Hey, what's going on?" I ask him, touching his arm. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until later? You've only been gone for about two and a half hours."

He scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, we, uh, had a change in plans."

"You mean Negan changed his mind?"

"Uh...not exactly."

I knit my brows. "Then what's going on? Why are you all back so soon?" I look around. "Where's Negan?"

"Alright!" Simon hollers, quieting the floor. "I need everyone to gather 'round for some very important, very tragic news."

I look at Dwight, who averts his gaze. "Dwight, what's going on?"

A crowd forms around Simon, on the floor and along the second floor. I note all the faces of the Saviors that came back.

"Dwight?"

"I regret to inform you all that Negan is gone." Simon announces.

I feel my stomach drop. _What?_

"He was run off the road by one of our insubordinate adversaries," Simon continues, "D and I went out to search for him and came upon his car, flipped over and on fire."

I stand there, completely plummeted. Everyone looks astonished.

"Now, I know this is hard to take in. Negan was a great leader, who pulled us out of deep, miserable shit and gave us purpose and drive." Simon puts his hands on his hips, as if stricken by the news he's delivering. "And being said, we're gonna honor him by cutting ties with the people who did this and move on; rebuild our community, recuperate our losses, and make new contacts with people who will get the program."

A few people in the crowd nod, apparently liking the right hand man's proposal.

"But the first step we have to take is to get rid of the old to make room for the new," Simon goes on, "And the only way we're gonna do that is if we wipe them from the face of the earth, so it'll be known to all what happens when you go against the Saviors!"

Some people, Gary included, clap and slightly cheer. "Yeah, for Negan!"

That causes more cheering and it makes my stomach turn. I walk against some of people behind me to go to the stairs.

"Nan?" Dwight calls after me, but I keep going. "Nan!"

I climb the steps until the middle level, where I have to stop. I comb my hair back with my hands, while trying to get a grip on my spinning head and nauseated stomach. I close my eyes for a moment.

"Nan?" His voice echoes at the bottom of the stairwell. "Are you alright?"

I put my hand on his as it gently touches my arm. "I'm fine, I just...feel sick."

"Why don't you go lie down for a while?" Dwight suggests. "Here, I'll help you up to the room."

I nod, feeling slightly out of breath. He rests his hand on the small of my back, while the other takes a firm, safe grip of my hand as he guides me up the stairs. I breathe through a small cramp that picks the wrong time to twinge as I'm going up. When we get to the second floor and to our room, Dwight opens the door for me.

"Sit down," He leads me over to the armchair, "There you go. You want some water, or tea, or something?"

I nod my head. "Tea...a-and some water, please."

"Sure, just a sec."

I sink into the chair, setting my hand on my bump as I resist the disgusting feeling in the pit of my stomach. _Negan gone?_ "Is it true?"

Dwight clicks on the stove. "Yeah, it is."

I swallow. "He's dead?"

"We don't know," He tells me, "But the shape we found his car in...it didn't look good."

"So, he...could still be alive?" I look that way.

"I guess so, but, I don't know," Dwight hands me a glass of water, "If he's alive, he'll find his way back by tonight, I'm sure." He looks me over as I unsettlingly drink from my glass. "You okay?"

I glance down at my water. "I...I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I..." I can't finish my sentence, because my throat begins to ache.

Dwight brings a small stool directly in front of the chair and sits down. He sighs down at his hands. "It's okay, if you're...upset."

I drink more of my water, each swallow being harder than the last.

"I don't expect you not to be."

I rest my head in my hand. "Dwight, I..." I search around the room for something to say.

"It's alright," Dwight puts his hand on my knee, "You don't have to say anything."

I exhale, closing my eyes. "Okay."

He gives my knee a nice pat. "Okay."

I sharply inhale at his sincerity. "Thanks."

"I'm gonna go check the water for your tea."

I open my eyes again. "Did Simon mean what he said about 'wiping' those people from the face of the earth?"

"Yeah...to honor Negan."

"Negan wouldn't want that," I scoff, propping my feet up on the stool, "People are a resource."

"Yeah, I know."

I sigh, "He's in command?"

"He was the right hand man."

"Yeah, but..." I shake my head, "He's too volatile. I heard him arguing with Negan, he's wanted to kill those people for a long time."

Dwight pours some steamy water into a mug with a tea string dangling off the side of it. He then extends it to me.

"Thank you." I take the cup of tea. I let the hot ceramic warm my hands. "What are we gonna do?"

Dwight pauses putting the flour and bread away. "What?"

"Dwight, I can't have my baby here. Not while he's in charge."

He turns around to look at me, brows puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"I-I don't want my child growing up in any community that Simon's running," I anxiously explain to him, "This factory's cruel enough as it is, but at least Negan..." I sigh, "At least Negan had some restraint."

Dwight folds his arms. "It was his idea to infect those people."

"Maybe so, but he didn't want them all to die."

He huffs, incredulous. "No, but he knew a lot of people would get sick and die, or get bit. Maybe worse."

I look at him with a slight scowl, but I think about it. "I guess...I guess that's true."

Dwight picks up a shirt from the laundry basket and begins to fold it.

I set my tea down on the end table. "You aren't concerned about Simon being in charge?"

He glances up at me, stacking another folded shirt on top of the first one. "No, I am."

"Then why are you supporting him?" I ask.

"I'm not." He answers.

"So, you're not gonna go to Hilltop tonight?"

He slows the folding for a moment. "No, I'm still going."

I furrow my eyes. "You can't."

"I have to."

"No, you don't!" I shout, abruptly, gaining his attention. "You can tell him you're not going."

"And then what?" Dwight shrugs. "Get myself killed for challenging him."

"He won't kill you," I irritably rest my hand on my stomach, "He needs your support to get everyone on board."

"You don't know Simon."

"Dwight, he-"

"He trapped a community that was trying to flee and killed all the men and boys that were ten or older."

I stare. "...W-what?"

He peers over at me, almost regretting telling me. "All the women, and girls, and small children managed to disappear. And Negan didn't send anyone out to search for 'em."

"And Negan, he-"

"He didn't know," Dwight informs me, "The Saviors were just starting out, but once he learned about what happened, he started drilling it into people's heads that people were a resource."

"Why didn't he kill Simon then?"

Dwight shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know, I was just a worker then."

I smooth my hand over my belly, taking in the unwelcome news. "You should be the leader."

Dwight's eyes flicker at the door and then at me. "What?"

I help myself out of the chair. "People like you better and you're a good person; you'd run this place right. The war could end peacefully."

"I'm no better than the rest of them."

"Yes, you are," I insist, taking a pair of my pants from the basket, "You may not think so, but you are. You don't like killing and- and you know this all wrong. You can make people see that."

"Nan, right now, all anyone is seeing is red, because of Negan, and Simon's speaking their language."

I feel myself becoming scared, more so than I've been in a long time. "Then let's leave."

Dwight scoffs. "Yeah."

"I mean it, Dwight," My tone makes his eyes meet mine, "We could leave. We could go someplace far, someplace safe." I let my hand rest maternally on my pregnancy. "Someplace where we'd be alone. Just me, you, and the baby. We could build a life away from all of this."

"Nan..." He begins, before I interrupt.

"I know I'm...soft hearted, but I can be better with a gun and-"

"And what about when the baby comes?"

I knit my brows, confused.

He sighs. "Nan, what happens when you go into labor? Are we gonna force Harlan to go with us?"

"No, but I can...give birth without a doctor."

"Maybe, but what if things don't go smoothly?" He counters, walking the folded laundry over to the locker. "You and the baby could die."

I stand by the bed, my desperate, split-decision dream crushed by reason. I guess I wasn't really thinking about that. I'm not thinking clearly, I know it and he knows it.

I look to the rug on the floor. "We could wait until after the baby's born."

"Nan, come on," Dwight treads back over, "Simon would track us down, but unlike Negan, he wouldn't give us a chance at redemption."

I hold my elbows, moving my eyes to the bed. "Maybe he's not dead. Maybe he's just somewhere, hurt, and is just waiting for help."

"I saw the car," Dwight touches my arm, "He wasn't in it, but he was nowhere to found either. The guy who drove him off the path was gone, too, and he had to be in better shape than Negan. If he caught up to Negan, he'd have the advantage."

I shift my eyes to his. "Do you believe he's dead? Truly?"

His eyes scan my face as his mouth parts to form the words. "I...I think so, yeah," He confirms, "I think he's dead, Nan. I'm sorry."

I blink down to the rug again, nodding. "Okay."

"But, hey," He moves closer, soothing my arm, "You don't have to worry about Simon, alright? I'm not gonna let anything bad happen."

I look his expression over. "You're going to go do something bad tonight, Dwight."

"I know, but..." He licks his bottom lip, thinking, "I'll...I'll switch out my bolts for clean ones."

I knit my brows. "What?"

"I won't take the infected bolts and I'll just graze people," Dwight explains, "No kill shots."

I scathe the skin around my thumb, mulling his words in my head. "But...what good will that do, if every other Savior is following orders?"

"Trust me, it'll make a difference."

"How do you mean?"

"It'll lower the body count."

I lower my gaze again, glad that he won't kill, or infect people, but also disappointed that that is the only thing he can do. "Okay."

"I know it seems bad now, but I promise you that one day soon, things will change."

"Yeah, but for the better?"

"Yes, for the better."

I let him bring me close and hold him. "I'd like that," I murmur against him, "I'd like a change for the better for once."

Dwight looks down at me and then leans my way to plant a gentle, comforting kiss on my lips.

 **...**

The woman steps around the corner, looking beyond the rotter she had once called "Leopold" at the man holding a red flare over the only thing she has left of her now destroyed community.

"Leave those pictures alone."

"I figured they must be important," The man replies, pointing a gun in her direction, "Especially since I'm guessin' these are the only copies. Not like you can just drive on down to the store for new copies."

The woman stands where she is, confirming their importance to the man.

"I'm gonna ask, one more time," The man says, "What the fuck? This is how you kill people? With that nasty ass, ninety-degree fucker?"

"No," She bitterly retorts, "People are a resource."

The man lays his head down on the board he's tied down to with wire.

"Please," The woman beseeches, "Put down the flare. Those pictures are all I have left of this place. Of my people. You took everything from me. You took me."

He looks up at the sky that's framed with mounds of garbage. He then exhales and looks back at her. "My wife's name was Lucille," The man tells her, "She got me through. I didn't give her shit, but she got my through."

The woman stares, unsure of why he's telling her this.

"That bat?" He goes on. "After she died, that bat...that bat's what got me through all of this. So, I named it after her to help get me through _this_ life. That's all, aside from that; it's got nothing more to do with her. But it's the last thing I have of her, just like these photos for you."

A beeping, timer-like sound makes the woman look at her watch. She goes forward to the cart that holds the dead one, taking the bar.

"Don't do it." The man warns.

But the woman drives the contraption towards him, leaving the man no choice, but to fire as best he can at the body of dead, rotted flesh. She stops the cart right before him, lunging to get the flare from his hand. She grapples with him to pry it from his hands, but the man is persistent in not letting go.

When a struggling knee in the right spot, finally prompts the man to open his hand, the flare rolls out of his hand and into a small pool, extinguishing it immediately. The woman lets out a frustrated grunt, before looking up towards the sky. She darts up and disappears behind the trash.

The man spies what he thought he heard, but wasn't sure if he was delusional until now. He furrows his eyes in disbelief. "What the fuck?"

The woman returns into sight with a bright new flare, waving in the air to try and get the attention of the helicopter. "No!" She yells up at it as it starts to leave, "I'm here! I'm here!"

But the helicopter fades from view and the woman falls to the ground in despair. The man takes his eyes off the sky and looks at the ball of woman on the ground. She's gonna blame him; he just fuckin' knows it.

The woman peer behind her, meeting his eyes. The fury in her eyes makes him nervous. She gets up and angrily walks the flare over to the wheelbarrow that contains a pyre waiting for a flame to burn the barb-wire bat he holds so dear.

"No, don't!" The man shouts, begging, "Stop!" He points to the pile of pictures beside him. "Look, I didn't burn your pictures. I wouldn't, so don't burn my bat. It's all I have left of her and if you burn her, all you have is ashes. That's it, nothing else."

"Maybe so," The woman holds the flare, "But I'll get to hurt you. Take something of yours away!"

"I didn't do it!" He desperately shouts to get her to stop. "I didn't tell him to come here and kill your people and I swear on my sack that I didn't know until now."

The woman halts, listening to his pleads.

"But I can make it right," The man hoarsely insists, "If you let me go now, I can right this wrong."

"You're lying!" She accuses.

"No," He shakes his head, "I'm lying. I can settle what he's done to you; I want to."

She still has the flare over the wheelbarrow, not yet convinced.

"Listen to me. Just listen..." The mans sighs heavily, "There's a woman at the Sanctuary that if I don't get back there soon is gonna be in danger."

The woman knits her brows, looking his way.

"I know you don't have a reason to care, but she's innocent," The man continues, "She's...she's pregnant."

The hand that holds the flare trembles a little.

"Let me go, let me fix this," He pleads with her, "Let me save her."

The woman lets go of the flare, which causes him to relax his head. She puts her hands on her knees and begins to sob.

The man blinks, feeling the air cool around his eyes as he stares up at the sky again.

 **...**

I lay on my side, watching him get ready to go to the Hilltop. We just ate dinner a little while ago. Dwight ended up cooking instead of me, but he says he doesn't mind and I believe him. I don't think the energy was there for me to cook anyway. I feel somewhat extinguished at the moment.

Dwight and I have spent the last few hours inside our room together. We both turned off our radios, which resulted in people knocking on our door, looking for him once or twice. But he dismissed them with some form of direction that they were looking for and then shut the door.

He did the dishes, while I tidied up around the room some more. It was quiet, but I didn't mind. I've had a few more cramps since this afternoon, but they're minor and I don't think I have much to worry about.

"Hey, did you move my other boots somewhere?" Dwight asks.

I bite my lip. "Um, yeah."

"Where to?"

"Um, I gave them to a worker."

He glances over at me on the bed. "Oh...why?"

"Because a Savior took his right off his feet and he needed a new pair," I lightly explain, "And you were gone, so I just thought he could use them instead."

Dwight nods and closes the locker door. "Oh, alright."

I feel a little bad. "I never saw you wear them really. Sorry."

"No, it's fine," He shrugs, "I was just wondering where they were."

I start to smile as he approaches the bed. He sits close to put his boots on.

"What other stuff of mine have you given away?"

I chuckle a little. "Nothing, just the beer and the shoes."

"Oh, yeah?" He peers my way. "Then who's been wearing my clothes?"

"I have."

"Oh, well," Dwight declines my way, putting his arm on the other side of me as he kisses me, "I guess that's okay."

I smile at him. "I washed them for you."

He kisses me again. "You gonna be okay here?"

"Y-yeah."

"That didn't sound too sure."

"I don't want you to go," I lay an arm under my head, "And I'll be worry sick until you come back, but I'll be alright."

Dwight sits up, lacing up his boot. "You're okay about Negan?"

My smile dwindles. "...Yeah."

"You sure?" He glances back at me.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seemed upset earlier this afternoon."

"Well, I was," I quietly scoff, "I was...upset about the whole thing."

"The whole thing?"

"Yes," I reply, "About the plan, about the new plan, about Simon being the leader, and-"

"And about Negan being gone?"

I look at him. "Why are you asking me this?"

"I'm not, I'm just..." He puts his foot down, "I want you to know that it's okay, if you are. I mean, I'd understand why."

I'm frustrated and I know I really shouldn't be. "I don't want to talk about Negan."

"Alright, fine."

"I don't have feelings for him."

"I didn't say you did."

Flustered, I shift over to my other side. I exhale through my nose. "It's just..."

The bed creaks as he makes some slight movement. "Just what?"

I stare at the wall. "He was good to me, when you were gone," I breathe in, "I know it was probably just to get me back to the top floor with him and the wives, but some of the things we talked about felt real."

"What things?"

I look over my shoulder at him. "The future," I rasp, "He said he was trying to make a future for my child. A world where they could grow up; safe, and sound, and happy. And do better than us."

"Better?"

"Yeah, like they won't have to just survive somehow in this world. They'll get to live. Maybe they won't have to kill… that's what I was thinking, anyway."

"That does sound ideal."

"Yeah," I sigh, feeling a bend in my chest, "But I guess it was just sweet nothings, right? He only said it to fool me."

Dwight nods slightly. "Yeah...maybe, maybe not."

Someone knocks on our door rather urgently. Dwight gets up from the bed and over to the door to answer it. He peers through the made opening, but doesn't open the door anymore than that.

"Yeah?"

"I need to talk to you." Laura's voice puzzles me.

"About what?"

"What do you think?"

"Can't it wait?" Dwight asks.

"No, it can't and I don't think you're in any position to be asking for requests."

Dwight briefly looks back into the room and then into the hall. "Alright, just give me a minute."

"You have thirty seconds." Laura tells him.

I curiously watch as he closes the door, partly stunned by what I just witnessed. "What's she talking about?"

"She's not happy about Simon," Dwight relays, "And she wants me to convince Simon to send a search party out for Negan."

"She does?"

"Yeah, she doesn't think he's dead, or at least doesn't trust that he's actually gone."

I nod my head. "Oh..."

Dwight looks down at his watch. "Alright, I gotta go."

"Okay," I roll out of bed, "I'll walk with you."

The two of us go down to the front of the Sanctuary and outside to the front entrance where all the trucks are loaded. Reed's writing down something on his clipboard, while accepting new lists from the people by the trucks. He looks over my way and motions me over.

"Reed wants to see me." I murmur, walking over to him. "Yes?"

"Did you not put the notices up?"

"No, I said I wasn't going to."

Reed lifts a few disheveled papers up and then pulls a small stack from the pile. "I figured as much, so here's some more. Go put 'em up."

"No, I'm not going to."

"Nan!" He snaps. "I'm not fucking around here."

"Well, neither am I," I saucily retort, "I said I wasn't going to put them up and I meant it."

"Jesus, would you just fucking do it!"

"Hey, easy," Dwight comes over, "What's your problem?"

"Nan's refusing to put up the new price changes that Negan set up and-"

"Negan's no longer with us," Simon suddenly strolls up on the three of us, "Regretfully, that is." He looks at me and then Dwight. "What seems to be the issue here?"

I glance at Reed for a moment. "I don't think the new changes are reasonable."

Simon plucks a paper from Reed's board. "Hm..." He raises his brows and then lowers them, waffling his head as if looking it over with careful consideration. "Well...you're right, these do seem a bit...incorrect." He hands the paper back to Reed. "When I get back, I'll write up a new list of point prices. 'Cause I think everything is in need of a little tune up."

He grins wide. "Alright, let's get this show on the road, D," He walks past Reed and I, patting my stomach as he does, "Get off your feet, mother dearest. Wouldn't want too much stress on the little one, would we?"

My skin crawls at her overt friendliness. Dwight puts his hand on my shoulder. "I gotta go."

"Alright," I turn to him, "Be careful."

"Don't worry," He kisses my forehead as he brings me into his arms, "It'll be okay."

"If I'm asleep when you get back, wake me up."

He chuckles, rubbing my back. "I'm not gonna wa-"

" _Please_ ," I insist, "Please, wake me up."

He exhales. "Okay, I'll wake you up."

Dwight lightly kisses me on the lips, before placing a caring hand on the side of my belly. I smile, but only until he treads away from me and towards one of the big trucks. A shock of blonde hair catches my eye and I glance over to see Laura climb into the SUV. She finds me staring and gives the same look she's been giving me for the past few months.

It's cold out, so I go inside before they drive off towards destructions and mayhem.

 **...**

Its pitch black and deathly silent. They creep through the community with a thick suspense as their eyes scour for signs of enemy movement.

The man breathes through his nose, trying not to give them a smoke signal to where he's at. For all they know, he might have double-crossed them, like he had his people. He's just as much a target as the other Saviors are.

"They've retreated to the house," The right hand man whispers, "We should start targeting the windows."

"And waste ammo?" The scarred man scoffs. "You really think they're gonna stand right in front the windows, waiting to get hit?"

"What do you purpose we do then?"

"We get the fuck out of here before we lose more people," He hisses, "We've lost too many as it is."

"There's no such thing as a war without casualties, D," The stand in leader replies, "And by the end of the night, we'll have taken them all out, one way or another."

The scarred man shakes his head. "We need to go. We've already done enough damage."

"Sure, sure," The other man vaguely agrees, "If this was Negan's half-assed plan but it's not. We came to finish this."

"Yeah, or get finished."

"If you have a light bulb kind of idea, Dwight, that doesn't involve leaving prematurely, then by all means, shine a light!"

Shocking, white headlights from parked vehicles ahead suddenly flash on, blinding the invaders. Before they even have time to adjust their eyes, the people inside the mansion open fire.

 **...**

The man puts his jacket back on, zipping it up to close off the cold. With his bat against his shoulder, he peers over at the woman, sitting beside herself among the garbage that has value to her.

"You didn't lose you." He tells her, but she doesn't respond. She doesn't even look at him. "You could come back with me, if you want. See this through. Hell, I'll even let you get a few good hits in."

"No," She finally answers, "There's nothing there for me."

The man sighs, looking towards the exit. "Well, then, maybe I'll come back for you after all this is over."

The woman doesn't reply, so he leaves.

On the outside of the dumps, there's a few cars along the perimeter. He gets in the one that the keys she gave him belong to. The engine fires up and he doesn't waste time to get out of that filthy place and head home.

It's completely dark within ten minutes of being on the road, but it's probably better to travel by night. The man thinks about what he told the woman at the landfill. Part of him knows that what he said about the danger the mother of his child could face was partly to get her to stop what she was about to do, but he also knows that there's some truth there, too.

That bastard would do anything to keep his spot on the top, while the big man is gone, even...

He inhales and exhales sharply. He'll be back tonight, in two, three hours tops. Everything will be fixed and made right, just as promised.

The man's brows slowly furrow as he focuses on the moving body he's coming up on. It's...living. "Jesus." He curses as he recognizes who it is, as she turns around at the sound of the car.

He stops the car and peers out the window. "Jesus Christ, if a shit could shit, you'd still fuckin' take home the prize of who looks shittier," He says to her, before leaning over to open the passenger's door, "Get in."

The disheveled woman trudges over to the car and gets in. She smells bad, like sweat, blood, and mulch. "Am I glad to see you," She breathes, "I knew you weren't dead."

The man looks her over. "What the fuck happened to you?"

The young woman swallows, but her throat's still dry. "We went to Hilltop."

"And?"

"And it was a disaster."

The man scowls, beginning to drive again. "Terrific."

"I...I took off when we started to flee."

"Flee?"

She nods. "I think they knew we were coming," She licks her lips, "And I think I know why."

The man turns his head towards her. "Why?"

 **...**

"Dwight?" I croak, stirring out of sleep, "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

I hear something set down and it's dark, but I can guess it's his crossbow. "Turn on the lights."

"I'd rather not." He says.

I sit up in bed. "What's wrong?"

His figure moves over to the kitchenette in the shadows. "We had to retreat."

"Retreat?" I get off the bed and start to make my way over to him. "What happened?"

"They were prepared," He washes his face, neck, and hands from the sink, "Simon walked us right into a line of fire. I think it was worse than when they ambushed us with that tiger."

"You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine," Dwight assures me, "I'm just tired."

"You...you kept your word, right?" I ask him, nervous. "You didn't kill anybody?"

"No, I didn't," He towels off, "The worst I did was hit some lady in the arm with a bolt, but she'll live."

I'm relieved. "How bad was it?"

"Bad, Nan," Dwight opens the fridge, momentarily lighting the room to grab a beer, "Simon told 'em to do whatever the fuck they wanted with the Saviors they've got prisoner there, because he doesn't want people weak enough to get captured."

"But you got captured."

"Yeah, but I escaped," He sits down on the bed, "It was a mess. A lot of theirs died, but so did ours. Nothing to be proud of."

I go to the bed. "Did they know you were coming?"

"I don't know, but they fucking kicked our asses and it's Simon's fault. I tried to tell him that this wasn't want Negan would do, but he's not gonna listen to anyone."

I fearfully touch my stomach. "What's the plan now?"

Dwight looks at me. "I'll figure something out."

I lean my head on his shoulder. "It's not too late; we could still leave."

"Nah, we're not going anywhere," He soothes my leg, "You need to be close to a doctor."

"So, then what are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet, but we'll be alright."

I close my eyes. "Let's go to bed," I push myself back to the side of the bed that's mine, "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Dwight kicks off his boots and undresses. He lies down and turns over to his side to look at me. "You trust me, right?"

"Yeah," I murmur, "I trust you, but I'm afraid that things around here are gonna get bad."

"Don't be," He moves some hair out of my face, "I promised you I'd make things better, remember? And I'm going to."

"I know," I smile, moving closer, "It's cold."

"I'll close the window."

"No, just hold me."

Dwight holds me in his arms and I can feel myself tear up with exhaustion. I kiss his jaw line, touching his face. He kisses me back.

"It's okay, honey."

I make him out in the dark. Those three words hit me like three separate notes. I gently caress my thumb along his tattered skin, smoothing his hair back on the other side.

Dwight tenderly plants a small kiss on my lips again and I return the favor. We embrace quietly under the darkness of the pre-winter night.

There's so much anger, and worry, and sorrow stirred up in me like asthma, but the way he holds and kisses me breathes relief to my anguish.

His hand roams down to the back of my thigh, drawing it up and resting it over his. I separate from the kiss to look at him in the eyes. He gazes at me, half-sure, half-waiting to see if I'm sure. I inch myself as close as I can to him; sure.

 **...**

The car pulls up on the factory to the front gates. The graveyard guards hold their assault rifles, signaling for the car to turn off its high beams. The man grins, turning them off after finding it funny that he turned them on in the first place, just to be an asshole.

One of the guards approaches the driver's seat to the rolled down window. He's instantly dumbfounded, like he's seen a ghost. "It...It's you," He marvels, "I knew you were alive."

"Fuck yeah, I am," The leader glances up at him with a smirk, "But keep it on the down low."

The guard looks past him as he spots the passenger. "Uh, what?"

"Daddy's home and I want it to be a surprise, understand?" The leader tells him. "I wanna see who's been staying up past their bedtime while I was away."

"O-Okay."

"I want you to stash the car and then me and the hitchhiker are gonna lay low down in the furnace room."

"Yes, sir." The guard nods obediently.

The leader taps a gloved finger on the side of the door. "I need you to do another favor for me."

"Of course."

"I need you to get me the scoop on the well being of my baby mama."

"Nan?"

"Yes, that would be her."

"I think she's probably asleep," The guard tells his leader, "You want me to go get her for you?"

"No, don't wake her up," The leader commands, "I don't want her to know I'm here, either."

He looks over at the passenger who seems to be trying to convey that she's not part of this. But the leader just glances back at the guard.

"I just want to know, if she's safe, or not."

The guard puzzles his brows. "Uh, yeah, yeah, I think so. Why wouldn't she be?"

The leader smiles at him. "Oh, Danny boy, do I have a tale for you."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Sort of a boring chapter, I know, but the shit's gonna hit the fan next chapter lol!**

 **CLTex: Glad you liked last chapter! Yeah, I feel Nan was in the right when she had it out with Negan. Alas, her reaction to him being gone may (I say "may" because I don't know how you interpreted it) seem underwhelming on the surface, but she's still trying to work all that out.**

 **StTudnoBright: Nope, Negan's officially on the up and up as of the ending of this chapter, so it's about to go down. I'm happy you enjoyed the fluff between Dwight and Nan. I think they're cute together and since they're on the same level socially speaking, they're able to communicate more openly with one another, which is maybe something that's missing from the Negan/Nan scheme.**


	56. Daddy's Home

The cold from the window brings about an old familiar smell. The smell of crisp leaves and dirt. A perpetual dampness in the earth, regardless of whether or not its rained. It's a favorite smell.

The room is peaceful and still. The only disquietude is the slight breeze and the serene breathing of sleep. All seems safe and sound. There's no amount of noise out there that can disrupt what takes place in here.

He jumps a little from his sleep, looking up. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I quietly snicker, "I just need to get past you."

Dwight closes his eyes and exhales, before nodding his head. "Okay." I sit up some more in bed, waiting for him to move for me. "Going to the bathroom?"

"No, I'm thirsty."

"Oh," He rubs his eye while putting his feet to the floor, "I'll get it for you."

"I can do it."

"Nah, it's fine." He shuffles over to the sink.

I smile, accepting the glass when he comes back. "Thank you."

"Sure," Dwight lies back down, checking his watch, "It's...six."

"Mhm." I nod as I drink.

"How long have you been up?"

"Since about five-thirty," I extend the glass, "Can you set this over there, please?"

Dwight puts the empty glass on the small table by the bed. I ease myself back down, kissing the side of his face and then laying against him. It's cold in the room, but the warmth of our bodies makes it easy to forget. I didn't put my sleeping shorts back on last night, only my underwear, so my toes graze the pool of them as I stretch my legs.

"Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?" Dwight asks.

"The smells from outside? It's getting colder," I wiggle myself closer, "November's only a week away."

"Yeah." Dwight puts his arm around me.

"I wonder how far into November I'll have to go, before I go into labor?"

"Well, how far along are you now?"

"Thirty-seven weeks, approximately."

"So, what? Three weeks?"

A smile grows on my face. "Yeah...didn't you say you were born in November?"

"Yeah, on the fifth," His thumb brushes along my skin, "Have you talked to Harlan about what the game plan's gonna be?"

I bite the corner of my lip. "Um, no, I haven't spoken to Harlan in awhile."

"Why not?"

"Because... Negan told him about his brother."

"Oh." Dwight says under his breath.

I look at him. "But he'll still deliver the baby."

"He said so?"

"No, but Negan said..." I trail off mid-sentence. _Negan's not here._ He can't make Harlan do a damn thing. "Well, I mean...he's a good person. He'll help me."

"How do you know?"

I lick my lip, thinking. "The night you got captured, Harlan came to me in the middle of the night and tried to convince me to run off with him and that priest."

"What?" Dwight shifts my way.

I put my hand on his chest. "He said that Eugene fixed it where they could escape and try to get back to the Hilltop. He wanted me to go with them; said I'd be safer there."

Dwight's eyes look troubled, but not angry. "But they're still here."

"Yeah," I yawn, glimpsing over his tattoos, "I refused to go and so he decided not to risk it. And besides, Gabriel was too sick to go."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

I glance back at him, puzzled. "Because I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because we would've gotten caught," I explain, still bewildered by his questions that shouldn't really be questions, "Negan would've burned down all of Virginia looking for me. The safest thing would be for me to stay put."

Dwight nods his head. "Yeah..."

I breathe out. "And I couldn't just leave you here."

His eyes meet mine. I touch the side of his face.

"I was afraid Negan would blame you and..." I shake my head, "If something happened to you because of something I did, I'd never forgive myself."

Dwight slowly starts to smile. He kisses my forehead and holds me close.

I smile as he does. "You know, all that stuff upstairs is unclaimed."

"Yeah, but we've got nowhere to put it, remember?"

"Maybe we trade up to a bigger place."

He snickers through his nose. "The only place big enough is up top and I doubt Simon's gonna give that to us."

"You don't think he'll take Negan's wives, do you?"

"Nah, he'll probably just kick 'em out."

My thoughts wander to Marisol and how she wanted protection from him. "Okay."

Dwight gives me a reassuring pat on the back. It sort of works and I think it's because I'd like to believe that Dwight wouldn't stand idly by if Simon ever got out of hand...any more than he already has.

"I think I need some more water."

"Alright." Dwight turns the other way.

"I can get it."

"I'm already up," He grabs the glass from the table, "And what sort of asshole would I be if I made my pregnant girlfriend get her own water?"

I chuckle. "Well, in that case, go right a..." I watch him by the sink, "Did you just call me your girlfriend?"

Dwight shuts off the water, before looking back at me. "...Yes."

"Oh," I nod.

"Is that alright with you?" He hands me the water and gets back in bed.

I hold my glass up a little, so it won't spill as he settles. "I mean, I suppose so," I smirk, "I just don't know if I want to be your girlfriend is all."

Dwight snickers at my teasing.

"I might want to keep my options open, you know?" I giggle as he takes my arm. "See if maybe I can't find someone better."

"Shut up." He brings me into a kiss.

I let out a laugh when the movement makes the water above splash a little on the two of us. "Dwight!"

"Sorry." He chuckles, wiping the water from my face and from my arm.

I smile sweetly. "Does this mean you're my boyfriend?"

Dwight tucks some wet strands of hair behind his ear. "If you want."

I move the strand he's missed for him. "I'd like that."

We lightly peck each other's lips. "Want me to take the water?"

I take a quick drink from it. "Thanks," I watch as he places it on the table, "Careful not to set it on the book; Lillian will kill me if Jane Eyre gets waterlogged."

"Okay."

I slide my hand to his bare back. "What do you think about the name Jane?"

Dwight looks me over. "For the baby?"

I shrug. "If it's a girl. I mean, I'm not set on that name, I was just...thinking that the baby's gonna need a name soon."

He thinks for a moment. "Jane's a nice name."

I sigh, "I don't know. Is it cheesy to name a kid after a book character?"

"I don't know," Dwight says, "What other names have you thought of?"

"I haven't," I confess, "The only reason I thought of Jane was because I reading that book one night a few weeks back."

"Oh."

I tap my finger on his flesh. "Naming a baby girl after Jane Eyre might put pressure on her."

Dwight looks at me, humored and obviously unaware of what that means in regard to character. "Ookay...what was your mother's name?"

My expression dwindles. "Corrine."

"That's a nice name, too," He reads my face, "But maybe not?"

I exhale, laying back a ways. "I loved her, I still do, but as terrible as it sounds, I don't want my baby named after my mother."

He smooths his hand on my leg. "Alright."

I turn my head towards him. "What was your mother's name?"

"Caroline."

"Caroline's a lovely name."

He smiles at me. "What if it's a boy?"

I shrug my shoulders again. "I don't know...Negan Jr?"

Dwight raises his brow. "Oh, you think that's a good name?"

I grin at his tone. "Yeah, in loving memory of our leader."

"Oh, okay," He moves halfway over me, kissing my lips, "So, if it's a girl then we'll just name her Lucille."

"Uh, no," I flat out say, chuckling, "Absolutely not."

"In loving memory." He pecks my lips.

I laugh a little, but quickly grow melancholy. "Maybe we shouldn't...speak ill of the dead."

Dwight swoops my bangs from my forehead. "What do you want for breakfast?"

I touch his arm. "I want for you to stay here with me all day."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes," I bleakly smile, "I don't want you risking your life for Simon."

"I need to get things in order."

"Do it here," I finger step his flesh, "We can finally spend the day together."

He leans down and plants another kiss on my mouth. "We're in the middle of a war and you want me to spend the day in here with you?"

"Yes," I saucily smirk, "To hell with the war."

A quiet laugh escapes his lips. "Compromise?"

I slide my foot up his leg. "No."

"We're not having sex again," He smiles at me, "That was just a...slip up."

I snicker, "Okay...but I still want you here."

He looks up towards the wall, exhaling. "How about just the morning?" He glances back down. "A few hours?"

"Mmm," I pretend to think it over, before letting out a deep sounding sigh, "Oh, alright. I guess that's more realistic."

"We have a deal?"

"Yeah, you drive a hard bargain, but yeah."

"Good," He chuckles.

I gasp, touching a hand to my stomach. "Hey, I think the baby just moved!"

Dwight peers down at my bump. "Really?"

"Yeah," I take his hand and place it on the location, "Do you feel it?"

His eyes scan nothing as he waits to feel even the smallest of signs. "I...I think so."

"I think it's done," I lay still for a few more moments, "Yeah, sorry."

"No, no, I felt it a little." He smiles at my stomach. "Wow."

The smile on my face widens. "Give it a while, it'll come back."

Dwight kisses my mouth, and then starts to get up from the bed. "I'm gonna get the coffee started."

I sit up and lean my back on the headboard. I pull my hair up into what would be a half bun, if I had a hair tie, before letting go.

"Oh, that reminds me," Dwight walks over to the jeans he left on the floor last night, "This is yours."

I curiously knit my brows as he brings me something from his pocket. "What is it?" I put my hand out.

He drops a black hair tie in the palm of my hand. "I found it in the pocket of the shirt I was wearing."

"When you were captured?"

"Yeah," He nods, shyly scratching his head, "It sort of kept me going."

I look at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, it, um, reminded me that I had to get back here as soon as I had the chance."

I smile fondly, before I bring my hair back to how I had it before and secure it. Dwight glances up towards the wall behind moves and me. I look over my shoulder. "What are you doing?"

He pulls the bass trophy off the wall. I'm suddenly reminded of what's kept in there and I feel both nervous and sad. Dwight reaches into the mouth and appears to struggle to pry something out of it. He finally brings forth what looks like a rag. He comes back to the bed, sitting down.

"Here."

I take the rag and notice the extra weight. "What's this?"

"See for yourself."

I peel back the rag. "...It's a duck."

"Yeah," He itches the back of his hand; "I've been working on it for a while. It's, um, it's for the baby."

I look down at the block-like wooden bird that lays flat in the palm of my hand. The wood is smooth with little details carved here and there. It's simple, but my eyes feel like they're tearing up.

"I was gonna give it to you after I painted it, but I thought maybe you'd like to see it now," Dwight adds, slightly embarrassed, "Do you like it?"

My eyes blink up to his. "It's beautiful."

The corners of his mouth tip up. "Yeah?"

"Yes!" I giddily put my arms around him. "Thank you."

Dwight chuckles into my ear. "I'm glad you like it."

"It's perfect," I affectionately kiss his cheek, "Now the baby won't have to play with spoons."

He steals a smooch from my lips and then starts to get up.

"Hey, where are you going?" I pause him.

"Just for a quick smoke." Dwight picks up his shirt.

"But we're spending the morning together."

"Yeah, I know, I'll be fast."

I move myself to the edge of the bed when he stands up to get his pants. "But..."

"I'll be ten, fifteen minutes, Nan," He laughs, buckling his belt, "It's only six."

I snake my arms around him, bringing myself as close as I can from behind. "You should stop smoking; it's bad for you."

Dwight snickers against me. "I'll consider it when I'm outside."

I release him and he turns to face me. "What if the baby starts kicking again and you miss it, because you're out smoking?"

"Then I'll quit cold turkey," He chuckles as he plants a sweet kiss on my lips, "I'll make breakfast when I get back."

"Pancakes?" I sigh against his mouth. "With the rest of the chocolate chips?"

"Sure."

"And butter and syrup?"

"Yes." He smiles.

I try to stifle a laugh. "And will you make me bacon and hash browns?"

"Jesus," Dwight cocks an eyebrow, "You want me to spend the whole morning cooking?"

"Well," I drape my arms behind his head, "It's not like we're gonna be doing anything else."

His smile picks up. "Alright, fine, I'll make you bacon and hash browns."

"I thought you might."

Dwight looks at me in a way that makes me feel shy, yet like smiling.

"What?" I laugh with anxious thrill.

His eyes softly run along my face and his smile peeks up again, before he kisses me. "Nothing."

I stand where I am for a moment as he puts on his boots. I then step back, until I reach the bed. "Hurry back."

"Alright." He puts on his jacket and heads out the door.

I lay back down, rubbing my belly with a smile on my face. I exhale to myself.

 **...**

The man lights the cigarette between his lips as he walks out of the factory and into the cold of the dull, autumn morning. He pauses just at the tip of the entrance; so he can bend down to tie the laces of one his boots that's come undone. Some ash flares off with the small gust of wind that blows. A flake touches his hand and he quickly shakes it off to avoid a burn.

Maybe he should quit, like she suggested. He had, unintentionally, for some time. The only reason he picked it up again was to try to deal with all the things he couldn't control. The things that have happened at this place, or because of it. The things done to him, done to others by him, or done to the few people left to care about by Negan. The things and people that made him change, or feel the need to have to change in order to survive and to keep his wife safe.

He smoked to try and quell the anger that rose up in him after they had to come back to the Sanctuary; to Negan. An anger, which he had never known the likes of before. One that allowed and fueled cruelty and violence towards people who didn't deserve it. People that were helpless, like he had been before, which is maybe why he was so unfairly brutal to them. They reminded him of how he use to be and the good that's still there in them made him even more angry, because it was gone from him.

An anger that led him to punish and torment the man who only tried to help him and his family in the woods. That made him even more impatient and furious when he met eyes with the man and felt guilt, or admiration that robbed him of sleep.

The man rises, taking a slow, thoughtful drag from his cigarette. An anger which at it's lowest boiling point made him cold to the person who least deserved it. The only person who believes that he's a still good person; not even his wife thinks that.

The man can picture her now, inside their room on the bed. He can't remember the last time he had slept so well, or had woken up without instantly being reminded of all the shit that's going on around him. She makes everything feel like regular life. It's hard to remember a moment in recent time where things felt hopeful and okay that didn't somehow involve her. He exhales smoke from his lungs.

"Shit." He curses under his breath as he begins to walk. He should've just said it. When she had asked him, he should have just come right out and said it.

The man abruptly stops in his tracks. Someone whistles just above him on the concrete steps. It sounds distinctly familiar and from the corner of his eye, so does the figure. He turns his head. No...It can't be.

"Surprised?" The man on the steps asks. "Shouldn't be."

The scarred man stares with his cigarette hanging from his mouth as the leader descends the steps, baseball bat on his shoulder. "Hell yeah, I'm surprised," He tries to appear surprised for the better, "We thought you were dead."

The leader scrupulously looks him over as he walks towards a dumpster. "Would you give me a hand with this?"

The man treads over to the other side of the dumpster and with the leader, begins to push it back.

"Not gonna lie," The leader grunts, "It was a real punch in the fuckin' dick when you guys didn't show up. Made me look like an ass in front of Rick, swinging my dick around all confident that he'd be surrounded in no time."

They stop and the scarred man looks over at the none-too-happy look on his leader's face. "Well, Simon and I found your car turned over, on fire. We searched for you, but you were nowhere in sight."

The leader nods. "You proceeded to Hilltop?"

"Simon's second in command," The man says, "He wanted to carry out the plan and I figured you'd want me to follow orders."

"So, was it a success? The plan?"

"No," The man answers, shaking his head, "It was a disaster. Simon changed the plan and they were more prepared than we thought. We ended up having to get out of there."

The leader's eyes scan the scarred face with a hard expression. "Well, then we've got some things to sort out, don't we?"

An uneasy feeling comes about the man, but he nods.

"I need your help."

"Of course."

"Good boy," The leader smiles, "Would you mind putting that cigarette out?" He points to a part of the ground. "Right there exactly."

The scarred man takes the cigarette from his lips and tosses it right where the leader told him to, before stepping on it to put the light out.

The leader claps, sarcastically. "Now, we're gonna need to hold a meeting."

"Yeah." The man nods again.

"But...first things first." A grin grows on his face.

 **...**

"Ow!" I look at the small cut on the tip of my pruny finger. A little blood starts to leak out, so I put it to my lips. "Dammit."

I set down the paring knife and half skinned potato and walk over to the first aid kit for a band-aid. This is what I get for trying to get a head start on the hash browns before Dwight got back. It's not a bad cut, just annoying. This is also why I preferred being a baker over a cook. There's less chances of cutting your limbs off in baking.

A knock on the door sends me to it, while I roll the band-aid around my soggy injury. When I open up, I find Hal standing in the hall. We haven't really talked since our last scrap, so I'm a little surprised.

"Oh...good morning."

Hal's sunken eyes quickly travel down, furrowing. "You're not wearing pants," He rolls his eyes, "For Christ's sake, Nan!"

"Sorry," I close the door a little to conceal my lower half, "I forgot."

"How do you forget?" He grumbles, glancing down the hall in frustration.

"What do you need?"

Hal looks back. "Have you seen Laura?"

"Sure, we just got done braiding each other's hair." I retort.

Not amused, Hal groans. "I'm fucking serious."

"No, I haven't seen her," I tell him, "Why would I? You may recall that she's ended our friendship."

"No one's seen her," He ignores my comment, "She might not have come home last night."

I stare at his exhausted face. "You think she...?"

"I don't know," He shrugs, "I lost sight of her last night at Hilltop, but I thought she got into another car."

"Who have you asked?"

"Almost everyone who went last night," Hal replies, tilting his head to the side as if to see inside, "Is D in?"

"No, he stepped out for a smoke," I inform him, "But let me get dressed and I'll help you look."

"No, it's fine. I can look on my own."

"It's no problem," I insist, "Just give me a-"

"Nan, I said it's fine!" He snaps at me.

My eyes move back to him.

Hal sighs, possibly feeling bad. "Look, I'm sorry, I just...I can do it on my own."

"I was only trying to help." I dryly say.

"I know, but I only came to ask you if you've seen her. That's it, that's all."

I scoff. "Alright."

"Alright," He nods, "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, sure," I close the door in his face, "And fuck you, too."

I pad over to the bed to get my shorts from under the blankets. I slip on a flannel of Dwight's as well, since it is a little chilly in here. I start peeling potatoes again, which is probably not such a good idea, considering how mad I am. You know, I get that something's bothering Hal that he won't tell me about, but I don't deserve to be treated like this. All I did was offer to help and I get my head bitten off?

The door knocks again, this time more lightly, before it opens.

"Nan?" Dwight calls.

"I'm by the sink."

"Are you decent?"

I chuckle. "Maybe...but then again, maybe-" I stop talking as soon as he enters the room with someone else strolling behind him.

"Well, good morning to you!"

"Negan..." I stare in utter disbelief, "Y-you're alive."

"And well," Negan smiles, "Fantastic even."

"Fantastic." I parrot under my breath.

He chuckles at my dazed look. "Did you miss me?"

"I..." I look to Dwight for help, "I thought you were dead."

"Well, put those fears to rest, baby, because Daddy's home," He stops just before me, looking me over, "How's the unborn fruit of my _huge_ loins?"

I put a hand on my belly instinctively, looking down because of his question.

"Jesus," He puts both of his hand on each side of me like I'm a blue ribbon pumpkin, "Look at you; you're gonna pop any day now."

I take a small step back, out of his hands and into the armchair. "Where were you?"

"I got a little tied up," Negan chuckles, "Are you glad to see me?"

I scratch the side of my thumb. "I'm...yes, I am."

His smile extends, pleased, before he turns to Dwight. "Alright, Dwighty Boy, we'd better get down to business."

Dwight nods. "Right."

"Right after I have my wives whip me up a quick bite to eat. I am starving," Negan looks back at me as he heads to the door, "And you?"

I glance up.

His smile is low as he peers over at me. "We'll talk later."

Negan exits the room, shutting the door behind him. Just like that. My eyes blink to Dwight, as if to ask if what just happened was real. His face confirms that it is.

"He's alive."

"Yeah," Dwight nods his head, "He was outside."

I observe his body language. "Is everything okay?"

"He was being held by the woman who ran the garbage community," He sits down on the bed, "She told him Simon wiped out all of her people."

"...What?"

"I told him about Hilltop, too."

I glance towards the door. "Does Simon know he's alive?"

"Everyone does," Dwight tells me, "And Negan wants to have a meeting to discuss it all. But don't say anything about the garbage people to anyone, okay? Negan doesn't want Simon to know he knows just yet."

"How bad is it gonna be?"

"I don't know, but I don't see how Simon's gonna be able to talk himself out of whatever's coming."

I look at him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, why?"

"I don't know," I shrug, "You just seem...like maybe you're a little disappointed."

Dwight's eyes meet mine. "No, I...I'm just not looking forward to all the shit that's gonna hit the fan."

I nod my head. "I guess we won't be spending the morning together."

"No, I guess not," He replies, rubbing his hands together, "I'm sorry, honey."

I smile a little. "Well, we could still have breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," He stands up, "How many pancakes do you want?"

 **...**

I stare at the clock on the wall of Reed's office, not at all focused on my crossword. Reed barely looked at me this morning, still evidently pissed about the price changes I refused yesterday. All he said was that it's a good thing that Negan's back, because Simon's price changes were way worse and would've caused a revolt from the workers. I guess that doesn't sound too far-fetched.

It's been about an hour since Dwight left for the meeting room and so far, nothing. It's nerve-racking; something bad's gonna happen, every person in this factory knows it, but it hasn't happened yet. My baby's been having a fit inside me since I got into the office. It's mostly kicking here and there, but some of it's painful.

Dwight sort of just sat for a while after he made breakfast. He polished his chess pieces, even though they didn't need it. I didn't get the impression that he was angry, but maybe worried about what would happen at the meeting. But I suppose he could be mad and just did a good job of hiding it.

We never really discuss the deep resentment and hatred he has for Negan. For one, it's not really a safe topic to talk about, but I also think it's for my sake that Dwight doesn't sit around cursing his name. He was actually very understanding yesterday when we all thought Negan was dead, even though I told him I didn't have feelings for Negan. I was just taken back by the news.

"Hey!"

I look away from the clock. A worker stands in the doorframe. "Yes?"

"Um, Lillian's not at her work post."

"Oh," I stand up, using the desk for help, "Where's she at?"

"She's sort of wandering the factory," The worker tells me, "I ducked out from the coops when I saw her going towards the mechanic's yard. I think she's by the baker's station now."

"Thanks, I'll go get her."

I walk the floor in search of her. She must not be doing so well. I find her where the worker said she would be. She's roaming towards the quarters, looking random people over with bewildered scrutiny. I can see her lips moving, but I can't hear what she's saying.

I head her off, right before she trips over someone else's quarter. "Hey, where you going?"

"Miles to go before I sleep," She mutters, walking around me, "And miles to go before I sleep."

I follow her, until I catch up with her. "Why don't I take you back to your quarter?"

"Do I dare and do I dare?"

"You can rest for a while and then go to the library, if you're up for it." I gently take her hand.

Lillian stops and stares into me. "Do I dare disturb the universe?"

I shake off the chill I get from her haunting, near- hysterical tone. "Let me take you back to your quarter."

"I-I can't go back to that place," She tells me, "I know it's still there, waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting for me to open the window, so it can fly in and perch on my soul. On your soul...on-on theirs. It can't be there."

"I know," I say because I don't know what else to say, "The bird is bad."

"No, no!" She practically cries. "The bird is good! It's the window that's bad!"

"The window?" I pull back the curtain to her quarter for her.

"The windows, the doors, the stairs, fences," Lillian sits on her bed, "It's all bad; it's all deception."

"But I thought the bird was-"

"Hope is a thing with feathers," She utters to both me and herself, "This place breaks things like that. Breaks wings...how could it have flown off with a broken wing? What would inspire such false hope?"

I touch her hand. "It's okay, Lillian."

She looks at me. "How?"

"I...I don't know," I sigh, frustrated, "It couldn't."

"I told them not to," Lillian tries to ease me down to her level, "But it's my fault that she has to be there. She is miserable and I am her reason."

"It's okay," I quiet her, "Amber cares for you very much. She doesn't blame you."

"Is she alright?"

I look over my shoulder. "She's...she's fine."

"Doesn't look like it," Marisol looks her over, "Can I help with anything?"

"I don't know," I honestly say, "I don't know how else to help, other than to calm her down."

Marisol takes off her thin cardigan. "Here."

"She's got a sweater here somewhere," I fiddle around her crates, "Here it is. You can keep your..." I fall short of words when I see the perfectly spaced bruises on her arm. "What the hell happened to your arm?"

She puts her cardigan back on. "It's nothing."

"No," I put Lillian's sweater around her shoulders, before standing, "No, it's not nothing. What happened?"

"Nothing," She puts her hand over her massive belly, "Simon just stopped me again yesterday."

"And he did that to you?" I angrily demand to know. "What did he stop you for this time?"

Marisol looks away, aloof.

"Marisol?" I fold my arms. "You can tell me."

She twists her mouth to the side.

I glance down at Lillian, who's slightly rocking on her mattress with a book on her hands. "I'll talk to Negan for you like you asked."

"No!" Marisol suddenly answers. "No, you don't have to do that."

"I think I do, Marisol," I start to walk, "He-"

"It's fine," She insists, "Okay? I don't want it to get back to him."

"Get back to him?" I knit my brows. "What did he say to you?"

She leans close. "He told Owen to send me up last night with dinner for two."

My brows gather further. "What?"

"I thought he was gonna make me eat with him," She continues, "But when I got there, there was another man with him."

"Who?"

"I don't know," She shrugs her shoulders, "But he's been here before."

I nod. "What happened?"

I see tears pool in her eyes. "Simon made me serve them and he...kept putting his hands on me," Marisol soothes her stomach to comfort herself, "He told that guy things were different now that Negan was gone and..."

"And?"

She looks at me. "The man asked how sure he was that Negan was dead and Simon told him that he was positive that Negan's days were done...and that he trusted that the only remaining signs of him wouldn't be problematic."

"What'd he mean by that?"

"He meant you," She tells me, "Or your baby."

I stare, "What?"

She nods. "That guy was confused, so Simon explained to him that Negan had a collection of wives and that one of them had gotten pregnant, but that she...that you were sort of a 'loose girl' and that there was a fifty-fifty chance that the baby belonged to another Savior, who shared their mutual understanding of how poorly Negan ran things."

"Dwight?"

"Yeah, and he told the guy that he didn't think they'd have to worry about a crying, squirming brat that won't ever know who Negan is."

I feel a veil of fear and anger. "Then what happened?"

"Well, the man saw me and figured Simon was talking about me," She swallows, "Simon saw his face and laughed and said that there was more than one loose girl in this factory...told him that I was 'quite the good time' and that if he wanted, I could stick around for a while." The tears start to gather again. "I went to leave and he told me to hold on, so when I ignored him, he made the table jump when he stood up. He grabbed my arm, hard, and pulled me back...said not to disobey orders from the leader."

"He made you stay?"

"No, he just told me to mind what I'm told from now on; that I can't be putting myself through stressful times like this. That something could happen to the little bastards."

I scoff, disgusted. "That's a threat."

"You can't tell Negan," She grabs my arm, pleading, "I don't know what he'd do, but I know he'll do something."

"Mar, I-" My eyes shift focus when I see Simon, along with a few other Saviors, filing out of the meeting room.

Marisol follows my gaze, then urgently looks back at me. "Please."

I blink, meeting her fearful eyes. I nod my head. "Okay, I won't. I promise."

"Thank you," She nods back, "Now, I have to go back to work."

"Yeah," I sigh, "See ya later."

With Lillian apparently occupied, I leave the quarters. As I work my way up the steps, I see that Simon is unscathed, but stalks off like he just got neutered. What the hell? After everything he's done, why has Negan spared him?

I walk down the hall to go to our room to find out from Dwight. On my way, as I'm stew over the anger I feel for what happened to Marisol, someone comes from the small hallway that leads to the meeting room, just before I pass it. My eyes almost widen at the surprise.

"It's you," I accidentally say out loud.

Laura glances my way. "Uh, yeah."

"Hal's looking for you," I inform her, "He-"

"I've already talked to him," She interrupts, "Those assholes drove off without me last night, so I had to walk home."

"Oh."

"Negan picked me up."

I look towards the meeting room. "Is he still in there?"

"Yeah, but it's a private meeting."

"Oh, okay."

"Well, see ya." She walks around me.

I briefly look behind me as she goes, puzzled at the peculiar sound of her voice just now. That definitely wasn't the Laura from yesterday.

Nevertheless, I continue to head to Dwight and I's room. I open the door to an empty room, even though Dwight agreed to meet me here after the meeting got out. He won't be long, I'm sure.

My feet are killing me, so I sit down in the armchair and prop my feet up on the stool by it. I pick up Jane Eyre and read where I left off. I'm at the part Charlie liked. It's made me want to open the locket of my ring, so I do after a few pages.

I look at both pictures with what I find is a little less heartache than the last time I opened this ring. I think I might be finally healing, because these pictures make me want to smile, instead of wanting to shut the locket, take the ring off, and shove it back into my trunk. I think I might be moving on with my life and I oddly don't feel guilty.

The door to our room opens quickly and Dwight shuts it just as fast as soon as he enters.

"Hey."

He looks over. "Hey."

I curiously watch as he gets into a drawer and produces a map. He gets down on the floor with a pen and the map.

"How'd the meeting go?" I ask him, still trying to see what he's doing? "I saw Simon. Did Negan forgive him, or something?"

"Or something." He says as he makes markings on the map.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that he wasn't buying what Simon was trying to sell," Dwight answers, "He asked me to stay after the meeting to ask me to..."

"To what?"

He looks over his shoulder for a moment. "To set him up...he had Simon on his knees and then told him all was forgiven, but he knows that Simon's not done. He's planning a coup."

"And he wants you to...?"

"He knows Simon will come to me and he wants me to lure him and anyone who will follow Simon out."

I nod, thinking over what he just said. "You think he'll fall for it?"

"Yeah...I think he will."

I breathe through my nose. "Good."

Dwight looks back to me. "Good?"

"He's dangerous; he threatened Marisol and..." I peer over at the wall, "And the baby."

"What?" Dwight shifts a little. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Marisol," I tell him, "He told some guy that's apparently here that the baby was the only signs of Negan, but he didn't think he'd have to worry about it."

He looks to the floor, nodding slowly.

"I know that doesn't seem like a threat, maybe I'm just over dramatic, but it sounds like-"

I'm interrupted by a knock on the door. The two of us look to it. I don't know if I'm worried, or frustrated that we can never seem to go long without visitors.

Dwight hastily folds up the map and shoves it into the drawer he got it from, before getting up to answer the door. He opens it a little, peering out, before allowing the devil we were just speaking of in.

Simon looks at me. "Madam."

I don't answer; I just stare and then look to Dwight.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Simon redirects to Dwight, "But I think we've got some time sensitive matters of import to discuss."

"Yeah?" Dwight crosses his arms.

"Yeah," Simon says, before glancing my way, "If you wouldn't mind, doll, this conversation is better had among just D and I."

Dwight nods his head, so I roll my eyes as I move my feet off the stool. Dwight comes over to help me up, after I struggle a little due to the deepness of the chair.

"It's fine." He nearly whispers.

"I'm gonna go pee," I open the door, "Will that be enough time?"

"Yeah."

I leave for the bathroom and maybe rightfully so. I feel sick about this. On one hand, I want Simon to be apprehended and for this all to be done and over with, but on the other hand, I know it will be public and it will be gruesome.

I think it was the way Negan looked at me this morning. I don't know if there truly was something different about him, but it felt that way. He was acting like he normally would, but I don't know, his air just seemed off to me.

I walk back to our room. When I don't hear talking from the inside, I go in and see Dwight sitting in the chair with his hands together.

"So?" I shut the door. "Did he ask you to help him overthrow Negan?"

"Yeah," Dwight nods, "We're meeting in an hour."

I exhale. "So, are you gonna tell Negan?"

He nods his head again. "Yeah, I was just about to go now."

"Okay," I go over to the fridge, "You want me to make you something before you do?"

"No, I'm good."

"Alright." I pull out some leftover pancakes.

"Nan?"

"Hm?"

"You were right."

I turn my head towards him. "What?"

"Simon wants to use you as leverage," Dwight scoffs, "He said we could force Negan to stand down, if we acted like you and the baby were in danger."

I huff, "So, like what? My life's being threatened if he doesn't surrender?"

"Simon said it would work, because Negan thinks the baby's his."

"What did you say?"

"What do you think? I said no way I was gonna put you in danger like that. He tried to convince me, saying that it wasn't real danger and that it was only to get Negan to fold...told me to think about the future we could have without him."

Anger boils through me. "It's not a fake threat, is it?"

"No...Not if he felt desperate enough," Dwight stands up, "Hell, who could trust that he wouldn't harm you, or the baby anyway?"

I scathe the side of my thumb. "Let's do it."

His head quickly turns my way. "What?"

 **...**

The fences are fully up again, but it doesn't all look the same. There's not nearly as many rotters on the fence like there had been before, but I guess maybe in time it'll be like that again. The cinder blocks and rebar are also free of any impaled. I don't mind though, it makes it easier to see out into the world.

"You okay?"

I look over at Dwight. "Yeah."

"'Cause if you changed your mind, you-"

"I didn't change my mind," I blandly smile, "I'm fine, D."

He sighs, perhaps changing his as he paces. "Alright."

I glance at the dumpster, turning the collar of my jacket up. I have to look away, because of how nervous I actually am. The baby's kicking just a little, but considering how awkward it would be, given the circumstance, as well as what's about to go down, I just keep it to myself.

At last, a door to the front of the factory opens and Simon strolls out with a few Saviors behind him. I hadn't realized until now that Simon had other Saviors that would dare to back him up on Negan's demise.

I want to get closer to Dwight, but I know that I shouldn't, so I don't. I'm close enough to the dumpster to step behind, but I know my place is right where I am.

The group gathers in a circle around Simon. It's then that I notice the former Hilltop leader, Gregory as being a member of the group. When the hell did he get here and why? He must be the man that Marisol was talking about.

"I gotta think, D," Gary nods to Dwight, "That you kinda wanted this before we did."

Dwight looks at him, then me for a moment, before Simon walks right up to us. He puts his hand out to the dumpster, as if he's just leaning on it, but I think we both know it's to create some distance between Simon and I.

Simon glances over Dwight, before turning around. "If you're standing here, you're in," He starts, "No take backs."

Dwight steals a glance my way, so I give a semi-assuring look.

"We need to make this quick, and clean, and respectful," Simon tells his co-conspirators, "Negan's done a lot for us and it's the least we can do." He shifts his head towards Dwight and I, fixing his gaze on me for an unnerving second. "Dwight and his lovely lady here have generously agreed to whatever tactics necessary, if things don't go quite the way expected."

My stomach turns. Whatever tactics necessary. It burns me to know that Simon thinks that we don't know that he's more serious about that than we are. That if it came down to it, he'd most likely end up harming me, even though he said it would be just a bluff.

"You," Simon points to Dwight, "You, my friend, have pretty legitimate grievances with the man. Maybe more than most of us here."

Dwight neither confirms nor denies that, despite us all knowing it's true.

"The shot's yours, if you want it," Simon tells him, "Right all the wrong that he's done to you and yours...put a stop to all that can still be done. You would, of course, have to keep it clean. As much as you'd like to make him suffer, I'm sure; you can't. No knives, D. Sorry."

Simon chuckles at that last part and it makes my blood start to heat up.

"Once it's done, we'll get shit back into gear and on the right path, which involves the complete and total annihilation of the Hilltop, where we've confirmed that all parties are residing. That's the only way we're gonna regain control. We'll then fan out like we did before, find new communities, make new relationships, and most importantly...we'll do things right, so we won't ever have to go through this shit again. Lack of compliance will equal a wipe out."

Simon puts his attention back on Dwight. "That's how we build the future. That's how we move on. Right?"

Dwight doesn't answer. Instead, a smart, cuckoo-like whistle answers. Simon, along with the others look around, before they all focus by the dumpster.

Negan strolls out from behind it with a solemn grin on his face. He puts his hand on the small of my back, as he passes me, then rests his arm around Dwight's shoulders. "Thanks, D."

Simon looks at Dwight with what looks like disdain and obvious betrayal.

"Three..." Negan begins to count, "Two...One."

And at one, they open fire. The Saviors, Laura and Hal included, that Negan selected for this trap open fire from the windows inside, killing all but Simon and Gregory, for some reason. Arat leads a few Saviors out from behind some trucks, pointing their guns on those remaining.

Simon's burning eyes peer back over to Dwight. He lunges, making it a few determined steps, before he's held back. This only makes Negan laugh.

"There's the Simon I know," He chuckles, "There's the Simon that comes right for your throat, instead of your fuckin' back."

Simon sneers, keeping his eyes on Dwight. "Why? After everything he did to you?"

"You know why." Dwight plainly tells him.

Simon's eyes flicker my way and it sort of intimidates me, even though I'm behind both Dwight and Negan.

Negan walks up to one of the dead, caving in his head with the Lucille. "You killed all the garbage people, Simon," He hits another one, "Even after I specifically told you I wanted them alive. Just one, remember?" He keeps going, so they won't turn. "I gave you a pass anyway, technically a fake pass, but still and you try to stab me in the back and use pregnant Nan to get me right in the balls."

He hits the last one with a little more force, before turning to face Simon. "But, even after all this; me being who the fuck I am, I'm still willing to give you your shot."

I look at Dwight, confused, but I see that Dwight's not up to speed on this either.

"So," Negan continues, "You wanna be the man, you gotta fuckin' beat the man."

Simon stares at him with no noticeable amount of fear that I can make out from here.

"Hold him, until everyone's front and center," Negan instructs the two men, "Ten minutes."

They force Simon to head towards the entrance. Gregory doesn't give any reluctance.

I step closer to Dwight. "I thought he was going to kill him?"

Dwight stares at the scene. "I don't know."

Negan looks at the two of us, smiling. "Good job, Dwighty boy. I do believe our little surprise was a success," He walks over, "I think he really was convinced that you'd betray me and wanna do me in. Good thing you're a real man, who lets shit go and moves on, right?"

Dwight nods his head. "Right."

Negan looks me over. "And you, my dear, did wonderfully."

I touch my elbow, anxious. "I didn't do anything. I just stood here."

"And you did a fine job standing," He chuckles, "I appreciate the help."

I shrug. "Sure."

Negan fixes the collar of my jacket. "Go ahead and head inside."

"What's gonna happen?" I ask him.

"Are you worried?"

I glance towards Dwight, then back at Negan. "A little."

"Well, don't be," Negan pats my stomach, "Daddy's gonna make everything all better."

 **...**

I don't like this. It's dead silent in the front of the factory. Everyone's gathered in the usual manner with an imperfect circular center, where it's all going to go down.

I think the only person not here is Lillian, but that's because I took it upon myself to put her up in the library. She's already in a fragile state right now, I didn't think she'd do so good witnessing this. I just taped some papers on the window, so she wouldn't be perturbed by the "bird".

I stand next to Dwight, totally racked with an overwhelming dread inside of me. I reach for his hand and his takes mine in his, while still staring towards the center, where for once Negan is not standing. This time he's standing a little forward than the first layer of people, calmly waiting with his hands together for Simon to be ready. I only look away for a moment when I sense I'm being watched. I am, by Laura on the catwalk, who immediately averts her eyes as soon as mine meet.

Simon takes off his jacket, looking above and all around at those of us formed. "Everyone! After this is over, after this little shit show is done; we get to work," He exclaims, rather haughty as he rolls up his sleeves, "We reclaim who we are and punish those who defied and turned against us! Because no matter what, the Sanctuary must stand." He looks at Negan, before turning. "This man is not the leader he once was. He's letting a pissing contest drag us down and it's only a matter of time, before he single-handedly brings the Saviors to extinction."

Negan barely expresses anything at that, only a very subtle look that verbalized might sound like; "Is that fuckin' right?"

"That's all," Simon puts his hands up, "That's all I think needs to be said about this whole fuckin' thing!"

He brings the back of his fist swiftly across Negan's face. The cheap shot floor's Negan and Simon wastes no opportunity to pull him up by his jacket and punch.

I unintentionally squeeze Dwight's hand, afraid but unable to look away. A dull pain forms in my lower abdomen.

Negan manages to get back on his feet, bringing his elbow down hard on Simon's back, before shoving him back. He pants, but Simon comes after him with a vicious fury and so they lock horns. It's not clear who is getting the better of the fight; right now the leader and the right hand man are brutally clashing like beasts, like Hobbesian savages without civility or order.

Negan knocks Simon to the floor and begins stomping and kicking with more than just an innate will to survive, but with a rage that I've never seen before and in truth, it scares me. Simon struggles to get up, which only allows Negan to grab him up to strike him down.

By now, it's become apparent who's going to win. Negan continues to beat and kick as we all just stand there watching with great unease or horror.

Dwight lets go of my hand and I turn in question and find him hurrying off with Gregory. I look to see who might be watching, but no one's focused on anything other than the fight. I then follow after them, but I don't have to go far, because Dwight has Gregory just a few feet away.

"There's no one watching the gates, take the car in the east wing," He tells him as he hands him keys, "Go now."

The older man nods, practically running off in that direction with more than just the keys to a car in his hands.

"Dwight?"

He looks back. "Yeah?"

My eyes flicker between him and the path that Gregory practically pissed as he fled. "What's going on? Where's he going?"

"I let him go," Dwight says quietly, "Negan was gonna kill him next, if he didn't leave now."

I still stare at him, suspiciously perplexed. "Did you give him a map?" I ask, just before my mind draws a line. "Is it that map you had earlier? The one who were marking on?"

"Yes," He encourages me to walk back with him to the crowd, "It's so he can find his way back from here."

I go to ask something more, but I forget it when I see both men on the ground. Negan's on top of Simon with his hands tight around his throat.

"You went for it all at the Hilltop," He growls through his teeth, "You got Saviors killed and ran off like a coward! And then, you tried to use my unborn child to your advantage, you son of a bitch."

My throat clenches as I hear Simon choking to death under Negan's raw animosity. His eyes are dark and full of pure-grain anger. A sharp cramp stabs at me and I grab Dwight's arm as if to steady myself.

"But most of all," Negan snarls, "You taught those people that there is always a way. That there's always a tear in the system that they can use to escape, or break the rules. Because of you, they'll never fall in line and because of that I have to kill them all!"

A sick, sinewy break and it's done. The factory's soundless with the only exception being the leader's panting as he looks down at his kill. He rises up and peering out at all his people. Negan then takes one last glance at Simon.

"What an asshole."

He walks and a path is made for him by kneeling people. Dwight starts to kneel, so I do the same, but a gasp escapes my lips as soon as I'm down on one knee.

"What's wrong?"

I breathe through it. "I'm fine. Just a cramp."

He helps me up. "Maybe you should go to Harlan."

"No, Dwight, I'm fine."

"Nan, you're-"

"Please, I just need to go lay down for awhile." I insist.

He looks at me, before nodding. "Okay," His hand rubs my aching back, "I'll walk you back."

"No! No!"

A blood-curdling cry gains everyone's startled attention towards the stairwell, where it echoed.

"Let go of me, let go of me!" A woman continues to scream.

My heart stops when I see Lillian flailing between Mark and another man as they struggle to carry her.

"It was there, it was there!" She bemoans. "I had to, don't you see? I had to let it in, it wanted me to! I tried not to listen, but it wouldn't stop! It wouldn't stop, it wouldn't stop!" She breaks down, falling nearly limp in their arms as she distraughtly sobs. "I had to...it wouldn't go away."

Her hands are red with what I assume to be her own blood. I start to follow them, but Dwight halts me.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to see what's wrong."

"Nan, you need to worry about yourself," He tries to stir me left, "She's fine."

"Did that look like fine to you?"

"That looked like she was having an episode," Dwight retorts, "Look, she'll spend a few days in a cell and be fine again, like all the other times."

"Dwight," I adamantly move from his grasp, "I need to go see if she's okay."

He sighs, frustrated. "What about you?"

"I'll be okay," I promise, "It'll only take a minute."

"Fine, but I'm coming with-"

"Dwight!" Arat barks. He looks over at her and Simon's lifeless body. "Give me a hand."

He hesitates to speak.

"It's okay, D," I touch his arm, "Go; I'll be fine. I'm gonna go see Lillian and then I'll go straight to the room."

Dwight scratches the back of head, exhaling. "Alright, fine."

"Thank you."

"But go see Harlan, if it gets worse."

"Okay, I will."

"Okay," He leans over and plants a caring kiss on my temple, before heading over to Arat.

What little smile I got from that kiss fades as I turn to go to the cells. There's so much anxiety and fear whirling around me, it's not funny. Seeing Negan like that was utterly frightening. I've always known that he was brutal, hell, he's obliterated people with a baseball bat, but I think this is truly the first time ever I have seen such uncut rage in him.

But I wanted Simon to die and I know it had to be that way. If he had won and Negan lost, Dwight and I both would've died. However, despite knowing that, I can't help but feel horrified by Negan.

"I'll come check on her later," Mark tells the guy who helped him, "Thanks."

"Sure, dude." The man walks off in the opposite direction of me.

I look at the door that I have to assume is the one Lillian's behind. I hear her talking in there, oddly less frantic than just a few minutes ago.

"Hey." Mark says.

"What's wrong?" I cut to the chase.

I was on my way down to the factory floor, when I heard glass breaking," Mark informs me, "It sounded like it was coming from the library, so I went back and she had smashed the window and had blood all over her hands."

I scratch the skin around my thumb. "The bird?"

"Yeah," Marks lets out a sigh, "She said she had to let it in."

"I don't understand," I wipe sweat from my brow, "She's always trying to keep it out."

"I don't know," Mark shrugs, "But this was a long time coming. I could tell she was gonna have another episode, I just didn't know when."

"Will she be okay?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine in a day, or two."

I nod my head. "It's my fault."

"What? Oh, no, it's not," Mark puts his hand up, "She's just-"

"I was the one who put her up there before the fight," I confess, "I thought she'd be better off."

He nods, "Oh, well, don't be so hard yourself. You were just trying to help. She'll be fine."

I sigh through my nose. "Okay."

Mark looks at the door. "It's best to just let her wind herself down for now. I'll go get the doctor for her hands and make her something to eat."

I smile softly. "You're a good a son-in-law."

He glances my way, mildly embarrassed. "Amber and I weren't married."

"Well...you're still better than Negan."

At that he smiles. "Alright, I better go."

"Yeah, me, too."

 **...**

I lay on my side on the bed, holding the hot water bottle to my lower back to dull the pain. The cramp I felt has gone, but my back's still killing me. I was right, though. This was all I needed.

The baby even pleasantly kicked for a little bit, which was the best thing I felt all day. Dwight hasn't come back yet, but I'm sure he'll be here soon. I wonder if he'll make me hash browns again for dinner. Oh, and a cheese omelet with toast.

My mouth-watering thoughts are interrupted by a light knock on the door. I groan inwardly, rolling my eyes. I get myself out of bed to answer the door, even though I really want to ignore it.

I open the door with a little bit of rude force when another knock comes, however I'm caught off guard when I see Laura standing outside.

"Oh," I say, a little abashed, "Uh, hi."

"Hi," She replies with somewhat of the same tone, "Um, can I come in for a minute?" _What did she just say?_

"You...want to come in?"

"If you don't mind," She confirms, "I need to talk to you."

"Oh," I nod my head, still dumbfounded, "Sure, come in."

I close the door after she enters. Her body language is humble and troubled. She looks around the room as if she's looking for something to say.

"Would you like to sit down?" I awkwardly offer.

"Sure, thanks." She sits down in the armchair.

I wring my hands. "Do you want some water, or a beer, or...something?"

"No, I'm good."

I go over to the bed and sit down, clasping my hands together.

"How's the baby?"

"The baby's good," I tell her, "November's coming up, so my due date is close."

"Yeah, that's right," She smiles slightly, "Know what you're having?"

"Nope." I shake my head.

"Okay..."

I scratch my nose ring. "So...what do you want to talk about?"

Laura's knee bounces for a minute, before she sighs. "I wanted to say that I'm...sorry for the last few months."

"Oh."

She nods, "Um, I was sort of a bitch to you and it's been weighing on me for a while."

"Yeah..."

Laura twists her mouth to the side. "I just, um, that night all D and I's team were killed and I had to run...it really messed me up. I was angry and I felt betrayed and...you were here and I took it out on you."

I knit my brows. "Betrayed?"

She rubs her hands together. "Look, it wasn't right and it wasn't fair. You didn't know and it was wrong of me to shut you out."

I nod my head, albeit perplexed. "Well, I appreciate that."

"And I'm sorry for hitting you."

"Okay," I breathe, "Apology accepted."

Laura bites her lip. "So, you think we could put it behind us?"

"Um, yeah," I smile, "Yeah, I'd like that."

She offers a meek smile. "Cool."

I can't help but chuckling under my breath. "What brought this on? I mean, you said we couldn't be friends not too long ago."

"Well, like I said..." Her eyes blink to the door at the sound of voices, "I'm really sorry, Nan."

The door opens and Dwight enters, stopping short when he sees the two of us. "Hey...what's going on?"

Laura slowly stands up without a word.

"Laura came by to..." I trail off when I see Negan standing in the doorway, along with two others, "To apologize."

Dwight follows my gaze behind him, which prompts Negan to come forward with a cool air.

"You know, when I found Laura on the side of the road," He strolls into the room, "She had quite the story for the trip home." I look over at her, but she avoids eye contact. "Why don't you tell D what you told me, Laura?"

Laura licks her lip. "I told him that you had a shot of Daryl, but you didn't take it," She tells Dwight, "And that he lowered his gun, too, and that I heard you tell him that Negan was gone and Simon would much easier to take down."

What? I stare in disbelief. _She's lying, she has to be._

"And that he asked about whether or not I made it back alive from when we went to Alexandria all those months ago and you told him that you didn't think I saw anything when I ran. That for all I knew, the people in the woods were the only ones that were firing."

Dwight says nothing.

"And?" Negan encourages.

She breathes through her nose, still looking at Dwight. "And when Simon said that you and him went looking for Negan, I knew something was wrong, so when we retreated last night, I purposely ran off to hide and go look for Negan, because I knew he wasn't dead. I knew either you didn't look, or you killed him and was planning on betraying all of us for Rick and his people."

I look to Dwight who still says nothing. _Say something._ I keep staring, wondering why he hasn't denied any of it.

Negan nods his head. "So...it all makes sense now, doesn't it?" He and Dwight are face to face. "You've been helping Rick this whole time. You told him where the outposts were, you told him when to strike, you fucking told him when we were coming. You gave the workers guns when we were locked inside, didn't you?"

Dwight remains quiet.

"So, did you really kill Sherry?" Negan grins, chuckling a little. "Shit, I know you lied to me about Sherry. Is that where you've been? Wherever the fuck she is?"

At that, Dwight shakes his head, almost defensively. "No, she's-"

"She's out there fuckin' alive, isn't she?" Negan cuts him off. "No matter, we'll find her and see what can be done for her. Not so sure she's worth keeping alive, other than that tight body of hers and that very, _very_ tight p-"

Dwight slugs him and Laura grabs him to keep him from lunging. I start at the abrupt movement, but other than that I'm still, dreading what the consequences of that will be.

Negan licks the blood from his mouth, before throatily laughing. "There it is, that's my boy!" His grin then fades as his eyes become more solemn. "So, why, D? Did you think you'd be some sort of hero for helping stop the big, bad wolf?"

He turns his head and looks at me, smiling devilishly. "Or was it for her?" Negan glances back to Dwight with raised brows, curious. "Aw, did you think with me gone, you and Nan could shack up together, raise a little family, and live happily ever after? I mean, I stole your wife and burned your face, it's only fair you weasel your way into my little neck of the woods, right?"

I look down in shame, despite not having a reason to be ashamed.

"Well, as cute as that sounds, none of that shit is gonna happen," Negan goes on, "You're not a hero, and you're not gonna be a father, and you sure as fuck aren't gonna make house and home with my timber. You're nothing; you're a nobody in way over your head."

Tears gather in my eyes for Dwight. Aside from that little outburst over Sherry, he's being so composed, but I know he has to be to thinking, or feeling something.

"But, when I said you'd be a big help to me, I meant it," Negan smirks, "See, I figured you'd go on a little field trip to deliver the plan to Rick, but look at you, finding a delivery boy in that slimy bastard, Gregory. He's probably there now, handing Rick my brilliant, if I do say so myself, fake as fuck plan. "

Dwight knits his brows slightly.

"Yep, they're not gonna know what hit 'em. Thanks to you, right hand man," Negan can't help but chuckle at Dwight's glare, as he puts his arm around him, "I thought about killing you, but see, I know you; I know dying's too good for a backstabbing, double-crossing motherfucker like you. That'd be too dignifying, too short."

He ushers the two Saviors in with his fingers. "Ah, Dwight, I'm not gonna kill you. I've got better plans for you."

Both men go to each side of him and it makes a panic leap in me.

"Take him down to the cells," Negan instructs, "Put him in Daryl's old suit."

"No, wait," I step towards him, "Dwight!"

The start to take him away, but I grab his jacket, pulling him back with all my might.

"Dwight, no!" I struggle against arms shoving and arms pulling. "No! No, you can't! Dwight!"

"It's okay, Nan," Dwight tries to pry my hands off of him, "It's okay, let go."

"No!" Tears gush out as I desperately try to cling on. "Dwight!"

"It's okay," He touches my face, just before the connection is broken, "It's okay."

He's taking from the room and my knees just buckle.

"No!" I wail, hysterically, suspended by whoever's got me. "Dwight! Dwight!" I grasp the arms, pleadingly. "Bring him back."

He shushes me, stroking my hair. "There, there. It's alright, baby."

A surge of anger stables my legs and I clutch the leather of his sleeves. "You bring him back here!" I shout at Negan, "You make them bring him back!"

"That's not gonna happen, Nan," Negan tries to get me under control. "He's a traitor and-" He sets me straight, "And it's a courtesy to you that I sending him down to cells and not on the fences."

I look up at him with a leaky face. "Y-you..." I slap him across the face, "You son of a bitch!" I hit him again. "You fucking- let go of me! Let go of me, you son of a bitch!" I go to hit again, but he and Laura have me subdued by now.

"Easy, tiger!" Negan chuckles cruelly. "Easy!"

I shrug Laura off me. "Bring him back, Negan."

"No," Negan flatly tells me, "Dwighty boy's going exactly where he needs to be."

"He didn't do this!" I yell. "She's..." I point to Laura, "She's lying!"

"Oh, really?" He raises his brows. "Then tell me this, sweetheart, why didn't he deny any of it?"

I pant, staring at him without an answer.

He smiles. "That's what I thought."

"Then put me in a cell, too, because I-"

"Oh, baby, before you go trying to say you were part of it like a dumbass, Laura already told me that you had nothing to do with Dwight's schemes," Negan comes closer, braving a hand over, "Blissfully ignorant and I believe it, because there was difference in how you and Dwight looked at me this morning."

I smack the hand that tried to tuck my hair out of my face. "I still want to be put in a cell."

"What? So, you and Dwight can talk all day long?"

"I mean it, Negan!"

His humor lessens a little. "No. You will be moving, but it sure as shit isn't to a cell."

I stare at him. "What are you talking about?"

"This room," He circles a finger, "This room was never yours, nor have you ever done anything that's earned it, and now that Dwight's a traitor, it's not his anymore."

"And so where I am supposed to live?" I angrily throw my hands up. "You want me to go back to my fucking quarter?"

Negan laughs and it infuriates me. "You're lukewarm, keeping guessing."

My eyes search his, until I understand and my expression drops. "You mean up _there_?"

"Bingo."

I attack him again. "You fucking asshole! You wanted this!" He takes my wrists, hard, but it doesn't deter me from trying to pound my fists against him. "Get your fucking hands off me!"

"That's enough!" He voice booms and quiets me. He lets go of one of my hands to touch the trickle of blood from his opened stitches above his eye. Negan looks at the blood and then at me. His eyes are intense. "Laura, you can leave now."

I don't hear Laura's footsteps behind me.

Negan looks over at her. "Get out."

Laura finally moves to leave and while my eyes don't move from Negan's face, I can sense the reluctance.

"Close the door behind you." Negan orders and she does it.

When we're alone, Negan take me by the wrist he's still holding and forces me to sit on the bed. He inhales and exhales heavily, running a hand through his slicked back hair.

"This isn't how I wanted things to be, Anna," He kicks the stool over to the bed, "This isn't how I wanted it to have to be. I told you I didn't."

"What?" I wryly croak, "You didn't want Dwight out of the way?"

"I didn't want to have to give you an fucking ultimatum," He snaps, "But now, I don't have much a fuckin' choice, do I?"

"I'm not living up there."

"You don't have to," Negan sits down on the stool, putting Lucille between his legs, "After the baby's born, _you_ can go live in a dingy ass quarter, if it goddamn pleases you."

I furrow my brows. "What?"

"Oh, come, Nan, be smart about this," He says, "Did you really think I was gonna let the baby, my flesh and blood, live with you and Dwight, here, or in the fucking quarters? Shit, even if Dwight didn't turn out to be a dickless snake, it still wouldn't happen."

"You'd separate me from my baby?"

"Of course not," He pats my knee, but I move it, "That's up to you. See, I'd more than happy to move you back up top into the room I had made up for you and the baby, where you can live a nice, comfortable life, caring for our little bundle of joy."

I glare at him.

He scoffs, "But, it's your choice. I don't want you there, if you don't want to be there. If you'd really rather go back to the quarters then you can. I'll get you back to baking bread you can't afford, if you want." His face turns more sober. "But, just so you're aware, if that's the door you choose, you forfeit the baby."

Everything suspends. If there were a pin to drop, you could hear it hit the floor. My heart beats up into my ears.

I open my mouth, at first at a loss. "W-what?"

Negan clears his throat. "The top floor's reserved for me and my wives. If you're not my wife, you have no business being up there and your job is a floor level task, so there'd never be a reason you'd have to go up."

"Never a reason?" I scoff, angry. "It's my child!"

"Yes, but if you make the choice to live in the quarters, I can't guarantee you'll see it after the first year."

"The first year?"

"Well," Negan itches his brow, "The baby's gonna need to be fed and we don't formula. So, you'll be allowed to breastfeed, until the baby's winged, or until your titties dry up. After that, I can't promise you'll be part of it's life much."

I look at him, indignant. "You can't do that."

"I certainly fucking can and if you think I won't, try me."

"It's _my_ child!" I rise up, hands balled into fists. "It's growing inside _me_ , not you! You- You don't even know that it's yours!"

"Oh, please, Nan," Negan chuckles derisively, "It's mine."

"How do you know?"

He grins up at me. "Gut feeling."

I huff, "Yeah, well, we know for a fact that this child is mine and you can't take it from me on a gut feeling."

"Try me."

I walk to the side, flustered. "You're a monster."

"No, Nan, I'm tired," Negan chuckles into exhales, "I'm tired of your push and pull bullshit, so now, I'm putting my foot down. I tried to be patient with you. Hell, I even offered that we worked together and I meant it, but now...Daddy calls the fuckin' shots, no ifs, ands, or buts about it."

I turn and he glances over my way. "You'd really do that? You'd really pull us apart?"

"If that's what you choose," He answers seriously, "It's not what I'd prefer, but I'm all for given people choices and if that's what you choose, I won't stop ya."

I scratch the skin around my thumb. I believe him.

"The girls would be delighted to look after the baby," He adds, "So, I can't say it'd ever be without doting affection, but there's no love like a mother's, they say."

Tears begin to rise up and my throat burns.

Negan stands, groaning as he does. "So, what's it gonna be?" He comes up to me, towering. "I need to know."

I hold my elbows, trying to hold it together and think. _What choice do I have?_

He tips my chin up, so I'll look him in the eyes. His eyes are softer. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," He reassures, as he moves a tear off my face, "I wouldn't be dumb enough to think I'd ever get you back in bed. All you have to do is move up there and raise our child, that's it. You don't even have to speak to me, if you don't want."

I stubbornly move my head, so he'll stop touching me. I breath down tears, my stomach hurts like I'm gonna be sick.

"But most of all, I want our baby to know it's mother."

 _Hold it together_. I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"What's it gonna be, darlin'?"

I look back up at him. I know what I have to do. I inhale and exhale, ready to answer.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Hope you all enjoy!**

 **Guest: Oh, yeah. Shit's totally gotten real lol.**

 **CLTex: Yeah, I think Nan definitely has some confusion when it came to her own reaction to Negan's brief disappearance. It could very well be because of the tender moments between they shared while discussing the baby, too. But now...lol.**

 **Muffin35: I loved Negan and Jadis, too, so I had to incorporate it in the fic! Glad you enjoyed that!**

 **StTudnoBright: Yes, I know, I love Nan's blossoming confidence as well. She's for sure come a long way. I imagine she'll only become more brazen, given the new events.**


	57. Free

_The shovel tilts to the left and earth showers down into the grave, onto my beloved. I delve the shovel through the pile of dirt, lifting more funeral shroud. The woods are quiet and the sun peeks through the trees like golden rays. The bird sings aimlessly in some high up place, waiting for me._

 _As I bring the shovel back to the resting place, I notice him looking up at me with a peaceful smile on his face. I stare back, drenched in sweat, before I pour the dirt in. My arms are tired and tremble at the weight of the shovel and the earth it caravans, but I can't stop until it's done. It's time; we're both ready._

 _My breath fogs up in front of me as I heave out. It's gotten cold and the sun is disappearing. It must be getting closer to nightfall. The bird's chirping slowly fades out as a whistle breezes through the air. Though I find it odd that the bird would quiet at the whistle, I almost ignore it, except...I hear something else._

 _I furrow my brows, pausing my work at what sounds like crying. I gaze down at him to see if he hears it, too. He only looks back as if to ask what's wrong. The infantile wailing becomes louder and I turn as soon as I realize it's coming from behind me. I freeze, completely taken back._

 _A man, the tall figure I've seen and heard in these woods before stands directly in front of me. In his arms, he holds a white bundle where a cooing sound projects. I look at it in speechlessness, before glancing up at him. A small, plain smile sits on his face. I swallow my dry throat and look back to the bundle. I reach a hand out to touch it._

 _Right as I'm about to peel back the blanket, the man snatches my hand. I look at him in question._

 _"Put him in Daryl's old suit." He says._

 _I knit my brows, turning my head to the side. There in the woods stands a man in a gray garb with an orange "A" painted across it. I open my mouth in recognition._

 _"What's it gonna be, darlin?" The man in front of me inquires. "I need to know."_

 _I stare back at him, unsure of what he means. The shovel in my hands weighs a ton, so I drop it._

 _"I need to know." He repeats._

 _My lips are parted but I can't speak. I look to the man in the woods again, as if for a hint, or help._

 _The man chuckles into an exhale. "I didn't want it to have to be this way."_

 _I search his face, unnerved by his words as a familiarity rings through me. I try to pull my arm away, but he tightens his grip instantly._

 _"I told you that." He darkly tells me. "I didn't want it to be this way."_

 _Before I can struggle to break free, the man forces his hand forward and my breath catches in my throat as I'm off my feet. At first, it's slow as I stare in shock at the figure with the crying bundle in his arms grow further and further from me. Then, like the break of a red leaf from a tree, I plummet into the darkness._

 **...**

The weather's turned gray in the unbroken windows. The rest are being boarded up because of the sudden drop in temperature. Still, the factory's got a brisk chill running through it. Not that anyone near the fireplaces can feel.

It's hot in the station, because of the fire that's constantly being fed to keep the necessary flames alive. Even by the kneading station, which is the furthest from the big oven, it's sweltering. I can feel the sweat trickle down my neck as I roll and work the dough on the floured table. My hair's pulled back into a bun with the hair tie Dwight kept for me, but that only keeps the hair out of my face. The heat still makes the rest of me miserable and on top of that, my back is killing me.

I've been at this station for nine grueling hours. I've taken breaks here and there, went and sat down in my quarter for about thirty minutes for lunch, but other than that I've been preparing loaves of bread to go into the oven all day since seven A.M.

"Alright," Lorraine, the hag who's in charge of the baker's station calls out, "Clean it up before Reed gets here. And be quick about it. "

How this old bitch ever earned herself a Savior slot, I'll never know, although I suppose she's not the only one. Hell, there might have been gun-toting grannies out there in the outposts before they all got wiped out. She's mean enough to be a Savior, so maybe that's all it takes.

I clear off the table; brushing the excess flour into containers we keep it in, as instructed. We really can't afford to waste anything. I then wipe down the table.

"Here," Another baker hands me a spray bottle that's got one part cleaner, three parts water, "You wanna clean rag?"

"Thanks."

"Sure." She nods, handing me a damp washrag.

I spritz the table and finish cleaning the table. My legs, knees, and feet all bark like dogs from being stationary all day. I wipe my hands with the rag, watching Reed walk over to deal the points out. I undo my apron and hang it up on one of the hooks on the wall, before I go stand in line with the rest of the workers. Hopefully, this will be quick, because there's nothing I'd like better than to go to the bathroom, wash up a little, eat a small dinner, and go to bed. Even if I don't go to sleep right away, I'll still lie down on my bed.

"Okay, ne-" Reed stops abruptly when his eyes lay sight on me. He clears my throat, "Uh, points?"

"She hasn't given me mine, yet."

Reed looks over at Lorraine, snapping his fingers. "I need her points."

"I didn't write one out for her," Lorraine crows, "She was slow as hell all day and she forgot to put yeast in three of the loaves, which costs us material."

It's true, I did absentmindedly forget to put yeast in some dough and as a result, ruined a few loaves. I don't know if it's because of everything that's happened in the last couple days, or just sheer pregnancy brain, or both, but I've been sort of forgetful or oblivious. Although, one could argue that standing in one place and doing the same fucking tedious task all day may have some partial blame.

"You're docking her points for the day?"

"Yeah," Lorraine crankily replies, putting her fist on her hip, "There a problem with that?"

Reed taps a finger on the underside of his clipboard. "No, no problem."

She glances me over, huffing, before she grumbles off. "Little slut's getting what she deserves."

I bite my tongue at her ugly comment and start to head off.

"Hang on," Reed calls me back, "Your points aren't being docked."

I look over at him. "What?"

He sighs, "You've been off the line for a while and that bitch needs to cut people some fuckin' slack."

I tuck some hair behind my ear, embarrassed. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Reed nods, avoiding eye contact, "Twenty points to 34."

"Ten points," I correct him, "Baker's make ten points a day."

"I know how much baker's make," He scoffs, "But you get double."

I briefly look over at the other bakers in line still, folding my arms. "Um, no, that's okay. I'll just take the ten."

Reed finally peers up at me. "I'm not doing it as a personal courtesy, I'm just following Negan's orders."

"Well, I don't want the extra points."

"Well...too bad." He retorts, writing on his clipboard.

"Don't put me down for twenty points, Reed."

"Nan," He exhales, heavily as he meets my eyes, "Just take the damn points. It's only ten lousy points more."

I bite the corner of my lip. "You're right."

"Thank you." Reed motions for the next worker.

"The points are lousy." I head off towards my quarter, aware that I'll see Reed again before I go to bed.

He's been keeping tabs on me for Negan since I returned to the quarters two days ago. I've seen him walk by in the morning when we're all waking up, or by the bread station occasionally, and then always around lights out in the quarters again. I think he tries to seem as if he's just causally passing by while doing his job, but I can tell by the way he briefly looks my way and then treads away, putting his radio up to his mouth, that he's reporting back to Negan.

At my quarter, I get out my soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, and washcloth to take to the bathroom. If I sit down now, I won't be able to get back up. I keep my eyes forward as I go for the stairs, blocking myself from all the eyes that watch me.

When Negan gave me an ultimatum three nights ago, after he had Dwight dragged away for treason, I made the decision to go back to the quarters and resume my job as a baker. I was allowed to pack what I could in my trunk and then Negan had someone drag it down to quarter 34. The shame I felt of everyone knowing and witnessing my fall from grace, was dismal compared to the overwhelming anger that's swelled up inside me since.

I was a fool before; I let myself become ensnared in Negan's superficial charm. I let myself smile at all the things he promised and the belief that he wholeheartedly meant them. I let myself forget what kind of man he is. He's not good deep down like I tried to think he was, or could be. Negan's just Negan deep down, he's a cruel beast who's always been using me for his own gain and amusement since the day he laid eyes on me.

In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and wash up. The faucets no longer produce warm water, but the cool water's refreshing on my flushed face. As I pat my face dry, I see a familiar face reflected in the mirror. I promptly collect my things and leave, not once looking her way as I pass her. A surge of angry tears push their way up, but I don't let them shed.

When I get back down to the factory level floor, I force myself to go all the way back to the kitchens for some hot soup. Like Marisol, I don't have to pay for hot meals. I don't want double points, but I will accept hot meals for my baby. I won't have the privilege for very long anyway. Speaking of Marisol, I don't look at her as she pours my soup into a small bowl.

I haven't really spoken much the last few days; I just go back to existing like I had before. There's a lot on my mind that I can't blow off.

Just before I reach my quarter, the doors to the front open and I see Keller bringing in the fence workers. I stop in my tracks, watching as they file in and then set off to find Reed to hand him their point cards. My heartaches when I spot the one Keller keeps behind. I haven't seen him since Negan had him put in the cells. I inwardly fret over the state of his face. He's got several bruises all over her face, including a black eye, as well as what looks like a cut on his cheek.

Something draws his attention over to me and so when our eyes meet from across the factory, I fight every urge that would have me drop everything and go to him. I don't because I know that I'm not supposed to have contact with Dwight and I know that if I break that rule, he'll be the one to pay. And I don't know too many people who wouldn't jump at the chance to tattle on me. Keller might not, but he's not the only one on this floor and who knows whom I can really trust.

The Saviors leave me alone for the most part, because of Negan, but no one likes the girl of a traitor. If Negan hadn't told Reed to inform all that no one is to touch my quarter unless otherwise directed, I'd have probably been cleaned out the first night. The few Saviors who I liked drop eye contact, stealing glances when they think I'm not looking.

Keller nudges Dwight, gaining his attention. He looks back for a sliver of a second, before he goes quietly down the hall to where the cells are. I watch them go, again resisting the notion to follow.

"Hey."

I blink, turning my head to see Reed coming up. He's got the books under his arm and his radio in the other hand.

"You turning in for the night?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes."

Reed nods, "There's some stuff back in the office that someone left for you. Come get it."

"Is it from Negan?"

"If it was from Negan, I would've just said it was from Negan."

I twist my mouth to the side. "Is it from the same anonymous patron that gives to Marisol?"

"Don't know, it was left there while I was out."

"I don't want it."

"You don't even know what it is."

"Doesn't matter," I shrug my shoulder, "I don't want it and you can tell this 'anonymous patron' to shove it up her ass."

"Jesus," Reed furrows his brows at me, "Take it easy, Nan, it's just a few goods."

"Well, I don't want them."

"Fine," He goes to leave, but stops short, "Oh, one more thing; I've got your glasses in my office. Swing by in the morning to get 'em, alright?"

"I don't need them either," I tell him, "I don't have a lot of time to read nowadays."

"Well, still," He mildly insists, "Come by to get them."

I sigh, "Fine."

He walks off towards the stairs to take the books to Negan.

I glance down at my soup, not really hungry anymore. Still, I go into my quarter and fish out some crackers to eat it with. My eyes drift over to the empty quarter next to mine. I spend the meal trying not to cry.

 **...**

It's about midnight when I get up from my quarter with great difficulty. The floor is dead silent, except for a few snores here and there. I put on my jacket and foot my way out of the quarter as quietly as I can. It's dark; almost pitch black, if it weren't for the Savior who walks the floor at night turning on his flashlight upon spotting movement.

He flashes the light in my face. "What are you doing?"

I put my hand up to block out the flash. "I was just going to the bathroom."

"You should've done that before you went to bed," The Savior scoffs, "Go back to your quarter. Lights out means lights out."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm pregnant," I lift back part of my jacket, "I did go before lights out. I have to go again."

He assesses me, as if trying to determine whether or not I'm telling the truth. "Why are you wearing a jacket?"

"It's cold," I tell him, "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"...Yeah, sure. Make it quick."

"Thank you." I move past him towards the stairs. He smells strongly of smoke, which I assume means he just came in from a smoke break.

The guard continues to patrol the floor, going down a ways. It gives me a chance to slip down the hall, instead of to the staircase without him noticing. A frenzy of nerves accumulate in chest like a cloud. The hall's not as dark, because of the dim overhead light by the cells.

As I get closer, I can hear the faint mumbling coming from Lillian's cell. She hasn't been cleared to leave yet. I stop at the door just before hers. I listen for a moment, but don't hear anything, which I suppose isn't all that abnormal.

 _One-two-three-four-five._ "Dwight?" I wait for a response. "Dwight?"

"Nan?"

I nod my head. "Yeah, it's me, I'm here."

"What are you doing here?" He croaks.

"I wanted to see you," I answer, reaching into my pocket, "I would've come sooner, but I thought Negan would expect it, so I waited." I lower myself to the ground, even though it's going to be hard to get back up. "And I brought you some crackers."

"I'm not hungry."

I pull three or four out of the sleeve, "I thought you might want them, because I figured they weren't..." I fight back tears, "Weren't feeding you well."

"Nan, I..." He sighs as I push them under the door, "You should go, before someone catches you."

I wipe a quick tear from my face. "I just want to talk to you. Just for a little while; I've been thinking and worrying about you nonstop the last few days."

Dwight's quiet for a moment. "...I'm okay."

"What'd they do to your face?"

"It's nothing." He assures me with a dry throat.

"You aren't hurt?"

"I'm fine, Nan." He clears his raspy sounding voice.

"Are you thirsty?" I put my hand to the door. "Because I can-"

"Nan, I'm fine," Dwight insists, "Don't worry about me, alright? Just worry about yourself and the baby."

I look back at the other cell, where Lillian still mutters on about "the bird." I nod, "Okay."

"...Why aren't you wearing a dress?" He asks me.

I furrow my brows. "What?"

"When I saw you earlier," He elaborates, "You weren't wearing a dress."

"You mean like the one's all the other wives wear?"

"Yeah."

I chuckle under my breath. "I couldn't fit in one of those dresses, if I wanted to," I shift around so that my back's against the door, "Besides, I'm not his wife."

"You're not?" Dwight says with a dry throat. "He didn't make you go back to him?"

"He gave me a choice to, but I chose to go back to being a worker," I smile half-heartedly, "I couldn't go back to him. Not after everything he's done."

"What about the baby?"

"The baby's alright."

"No, I mean, what's gonna happen when the baby's born?" Dwight inquires, "Negan's not gonna let it stay with you in the quarters."

I lean my head on the door, "You think I made the wrong choice? I should've gone back to him?"

"No, no, I'm just...I'm worried is all."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Me, too." I hold my belly. "Negan let me pack some things in my trunk before he made me leave our room."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I nod my head, "I was going to pack the things Frankie gave me, but he took them." At this point, I know there's no point in trying to starve back tears. "He left the sonogram though, but that was just to torment me."

Dwight curses below his breath. "I'm sorry, honey."

I sniff, "I got your chess set."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know," I sigh quietly, "I also got what was in the bass's mouth."

"...You did?"

"I found it a few weeks ago," I turn my head, "I thought you'd want me to at least get that."

He's quiet again for a moment or two. "Thank you."

I close my eyes and breathe. "Is it true? Everything Negan said?" I soothe my stomach. "Did you want him gone? Were you working with Rick and his people?"

"...Yes, it's true. I'm sorry."

My eyes open. "So, Laura wasn't lying? You really did kill your team?"

"Yes," Dwight admits through the door, "We outnumbered them, so I...turned on my team and opened fire."

I lick my lip, biting the corner as I take that in. "So, you weren't their captive? You went with them of your own free will?"

"Laura got away," He tells me, "I couldn't come back without knowing that she wouldn't rat me out."

"Did you mean to kill her, too?"

"...I had my gun raised when she came out from behind the truck. I told her I did it, I tried to make her understand why." He breathes out. "When she shot me and ran, I didn't know if she would listen or not."

I wiggle my nose acridly. "She's the one who shot you?"

"She got spooked when they started to come down from the trees."

I try to remain calm. "Eugene was right...when we were locked in, you were trying to keep us stuck. You gave the workers guns."

"They were gonna come back for us," Dwight tries to explain, "They wanted the Saviors to have their backs in a corner and have no choice but to surrender and give up Negan, and then they were gonna break us out."

"By ramming a truck into the side of the building?" I arch my brow, even though he can't see it. "People died."

"That wasn't the plan," He says, "Daryl tried to take matters into his own hands."

I chuckle in disbelief. "You were gone for weeks, months, and you could've come back. Laura never said a thing, until now."

"I wanted to, but I-"

"You left me here," I interject, angry, "You left me here with him and I mourned you, while he sharpened his teeth."

"...I know and I'm sorry."

"Sorry," I scoff back, "Sorry doesn't really make up for the fact that you've lied and hid things from me this entire time."

"I wanted to tell you."

"No, you didn't," I balk, "If you did, you would've told me."

"I did want to tell you," His bleak voice rises, "But I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because if everything fell through, like it's going to now, I didn't want you to be caught up in it."

"Well, it didn't work," I rudely retort, "I wasn't involved and he still slapped me with an ultimatum, so you might as well have just told me."

He doesn't answer.

I sigh through my nose. "I could've escaped with Harlan and Gabriel."

"What?"

"If you had told me, I could've left with them and made it to Hilltop," I elaborate, "We could've met up there and been together, safe and sound and free. You wouldn't have had to come back to this fucking place."

"...Yeah, maybe," He slightly agrees, "I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

I scratch my thumb, looking down at the bottom of the door. "How long have been working with them?"

"For awhile."

"After Sherry disappeared?"

"No," He says, "But that helped."

I feel a pit on my stomach. "Is that why you did it? To get back at Negan for everything he did to you and her?"

"No that's not why," Dwight claims, "Like I said, it helped, but it's not solely why I betrayed the Saviors."

"Then why didn't you tell me about the rings?"

"Because..." Dwight exhales heavily, "Because when it all happened, I had to pretend like it didn't bother me. I had to pretend like I wasn't angry about my face and the fact that my wife saved my life by marrying him." He pauses for a second. "I've had to hide shit for a long time, Nan. I didn't trust anyone, but I should've trusted you."

I nod. "Is she still alive?"

"I don't know," He answers, honestly, "When I found the note, she was already gone. She left her ring with it."

I take a moment to breathe. "When did it start?"

"You remember when Sasha broke in?"

I knit my brows. "Yes."

"Well, she wasn't alone," Dwight informs me, "I was still on the outside when I saw her friend that I had seen before run off. I followed her and when she spotted me, I told her I wanted to help them take Negan down. I gave her the keys to the truck I was driving and we went back to Alexandria. She stuck me in a cell, until Rick got back. That's why I was gone for longer than I should've been."

Tears fill the spaces around my eyes. "When you got back, you asked me to move in with you. We..." I swallow. "We had sex, you told me you cared about me."

"I do care about you, that wasn't a lie."

I run my hand under my eye. "Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"When it was all done and over with," He says, "After we won and you were safe."

"And Negan was dead?"

"...I was afraid you wouldn't want me to help them take him down, if I told you."

"Why?" I scoff, "Because I'm so captivated by him?"

"Because you're pregnant and you don't know which of us is the father," Dwight curtly replies, "When you came to me crying all those months ago because the doctor told you there was a good chance it could be his and you were scared he'd take it from you, I decided I needed to find a way to keep that from happening."

I stare at the opening between the door and the floor, perplexed. "What?"

"You were right," He goes on, "Negan would take the baby and either make you be his wife again, or make you give it up."

I'm nearly stunned at how accurate Dwight is, without me even telling him that that's exactly what happened. He really does know how Negan thinks.

"I didn't want you to have to do either one of those things, so when I saw my chance, I took it."

"You betrayed Negan, the Saviors...for me?"

"Yes," He confesses, unashamed, "I'm not gonna tell you that Sherry, and Tina, and him putting the iron to my face weren't contributing factors, but I did it for you. You pulled me out of the rut I was in, where I just went along with it all, despite how sick it made me."

"I did?"

"Yes, you did." He confirms with an earnest tone. "The disappointed way you'd look at me when I did horrible things made me feel ashamed. You know how easy it is to ignore that around here? You made me feel ashamed and then I'd remember that that's because what I was doing wasn't right and it wasn't who I was before. I let all the anger and helplessness I felt allow me to change for the worse."

I glance down the end of the hall as I listen, troubled.

"When you told me you were pregnant, I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't thrilled," He adds, "But that was only because I didn't know how I was gonna be able to look our kid in the eyes after everything I've done and say that the Saviors are good. That I was good."

"You are good." I barely say.

"It doesn't matter now," He says, crestfallen, "The baby's not gonna know who I am. I'll be just some poor asshole who puts the dead on the fences."

"No, you won't," I put my hand on the floor, "I wouldn't let that happen."

"You can't stop Negan from telling them I'm a traitor."

"No, but I can tell them why," I counter, "I can tell them that you did it for me, for them. You wanted us to be happy...free."

"None of that will matter," He blandly argues, "Negan will fill their head with the same crap he feeds to everyone else. They'll go on thinking that I was just one of the assholes who tried to kill their father, the great leader who saves people and brings civilization back to the new world." He can't help but to snicker at that.

I stick my fingers under the door. "I wish you would've told me."

"I didn't want you to be a part of it," His fingers touch mine, "I didn't want you to regret anything."

"What would I regret?" I huff, "Betraying Negan? I-"

"The tyrant will always find pretext for his tyranny." Lillian interrupts rather loudly.

I look over at her door.

"She's been saying that nonstop."

"Has anyone come to check on her?"

"Mark."

"She's not getting out soon?"

"I don't know, it doesn't seem like it."

"Hope is a thing with feathers that perches on the soul," She says to no one, "I didn't want to let it in, but it told me I had to. It had to do it's work."

I glance down at my stomach. "The baby's kicking."

"Is it?"

"Yeah," I smile to myself, "It must hear you talking from out here."

His fingers take mine as best they can. "I love you, Nan."

My smile fades. "W-what?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Dwight apologizes, "I thought I would have more time to say it but, I guess not, so; I love you."

I feel a pounding in my chest, but I'm utterly speechless.

"You don't have to say it back," He tells me, "It doesn't change how I feel. I've loved you for a while."

"Y-you have?"

"Yeah," Dwight says and I can hear the smile on his face, "All I thought about when I was away was how I couldn't wait to get back to you and...everything I've done has been for you."

I open my dumbstruck mouth. "Dwight, I-" A sound from the opposite end of the hall quickly alerts me. "I think someone's coming."

"Go, before they find you here."

I nod, getting up as fast as I can. "I'll try to come back as soon as I can."

"No, stay away," He warns me, "Don't get yourself in hot water for me."

I want to say something more, but if I don't go now, then I'll be caught. I hurry down the hall to go back to the quarters.

 **...**

I got moved down the line at the Baker's station. I guess Lorraine figured I'd be more productive doing a smaller task. So, I'm making pastries, which is something I'm good at, but it's not as big of a demand as regular bread. Still, I find it oddly comforting to be in more familiar territory, despite knowing that these will most likely be unaffordable to the workers and therefore either scarfed down by the Saviors, or brought up to the top floor with dinner.

Tamsen, worker 40, drops a sack of flour by my feet. "Here's some more flour."

"Thanks."

"You need anything else from the pantries?" She asks me, since I can't do any heavy lifting.

"I need some almonds," I brush my hand together to get the flour off. "But I can get that myself."

"You sure? It's no problem?"

"Thanks, but I can manage," I go over to Lorraine, "I need to go to the pantries for some almonds."

The old woman looks me over. "Go, you've got five minutes to get there and back."

I don't say anything else; I just nod and leave the station. On my way, I hear a sharp whistle. Reed motions me over. I reluctantly go over to him, even though I'd rather not.

"What?"

"Come get your reading glasses from my office." He starts to walk in that direction.

I walk with him, but only because it's going towards the kitchens. "I told you I don't need them."

"Well, I'm not gonna wear them, so just take 'em anyway."

"I don't want them."

"I'm sorry," Reed stops abruptly, "Did I sound like I was asking you?"

I scoff, "What? Are you gonna suspend my points, if I refuse to go with you?"

"Don't fucking test me."

I stare at him for a second more, before relenting. "Fine, whatever."

Reed and I walk the rest of the way to his office in silence. When there, he opens the door and goes in ahead of me.

"Let's make this quick," I tell him, wiping some flour from my forehead, "Lorraine wants me back in five..."

There, in Reed's chair, is Negan with his feet propped up on the desk. I look at Reed; I should've known this was some sort of trap. I turn around to leave, uninterested in whatever he's go to say.

"Stop." Negan orders with a calm seriousness.

I halt by the door, detecting the edge in his voice. _Just leave me alone._

"Turn around," He smiles when I do, before blinking over to Reed, "Give us the room."

Reed once again avoids eye contact with me as he leaves the office, closing the door. I breathe in and out, before I look up towards Negan, waiting for him to say something.

"How's it going?" He inquires, carefully touching some of the barbs on Lucille. "How's life on the factory floor?"

"It's fine," I answer.

"It's gotta be hard getting up from the floor every morning," Negan says, "And standing in one place all day long."

"It's easier than getting into bed with you."

"Could've fooled me," He chuckles, "How's Dwight?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm not allowed to see him."

"Huh," He nods his head, as he looks me over, "You haven't gone down to the fences to check on him, have you?"

"No."

"And you haven't gone down to the cells for a little conjugal, right?"

I remain solemn. "No, I haven't."

"You sure about that?"

"Ask Reed, if you don't believe me," I fold my arms, "I know you've been having him keep tabs on me."

"Well, you are coming up on your ninth month," Negan sits up, "And since you decided to be all independent woman, I can't keep an eye on you all day. Who better to do that than the guy in charge of all the workers?"

"I'm not a child, I don't need to be watched."

"Well, you won't be for much longer," He says with a subtle bite in his tone, "Speaking of Reed, he told me you tried to fight him on your points yesterday."

"I don't want you to double my points," I wipe my hands on my apron, "I don't need your charity."

"But you accept the free hot meals."

I glance out the window. "You did the same for me that you did for Marisol."

"Oh, I see. You don't fuckin' want any personal bones thrown your way."

"Yes," I look back to him, "I don't want anything from you."

He laughs, amused. "Damn, baby. Your eyes are on fire."

"Tell Reed not to double them anymore."

Negan glides his tongue across his teeth. "It's only twenty fucking points, Nan. Just fuckin' taken 'em; it's the least I can do for the mother of my child."

"Oh, so, they're a reward for carrying your child? Or what you think is your child?"

"The very least," He shrugs, "You're gonna need 'em when the prices go up. Especially, if you're nursing."

"Those changes are bullshit," I retort, "You need to up points for everyone, too."

"Not gonna happen."

I bite my lip. "How do you expect people to survive?"

"Like they have all this time," Negan says, "If they're smart, they'll ration and budget their points."

"Or, they'll uprise when they're starving enough."

"Oh, don't be so hopeful, sweetheart. After we take care of shit in a couple days, no one will ever think about stepping a toe out of line again."

I look him over. "You really meant what you said about killing them all?"

"Do I ever not mean what I fuckin' say?"

I glance down. "You've lied before."

"...Well, I'm not lying about this."

I inhale and exhale, uneasy. "Okay."

Negan sits up. "Have you been to the doctor's lately?"

"You know I haven't," I clear my throat, "You've seen the logs."

"Don't you think you should, given how close you are to your date?"

"No, I'm fine," I coldly reply, unwilling to participate in his meaningless attempts, "Besides, how can I look Harlan in the face after you told him that Dwight lied about everything and that his brother was innocent."

"Well, I figured he had the right to know-"

"Why you threw his brother into the fireplace?"

Negan scoffs, smiling at my outright bitchiness. "Wouldn't have thrown him into the fire, if Dwighty boy hadn't fuckin' framed him."

"I have to get back to work," I turn around "Lorraine will dock my points if I don't get back."

"She won't dock shit," Negan retorts, " Come back here, I'm talking to you."

I stop just before I get to the door. "Well, I don't want to talk you."

"Well, that's too fucking bad, isn't it," He huffs, "Because I want to talk to you."

I cross my arms. "I haven't changed my mind."

"I wasn't expecting you to," Negan informs me, "Not so soon anyway."

I scoff, bitter. "I'm not going to change my mind."

"Huh, well, be that as it may," He rises up from the chair, "Lose the apron."

I knit my brows. "What?"

"You've got a doctor's appointment." He comes around from the desk.

I scoff, "No, I don't, and you can't make me go."

"Actually, I can," Negan towers over me, "You haven't gone to the doctor's in weeks and I didn't say shit, because of how bad you made me feel the last time, but now I want you to get your ass up to the infirmary."

"Or what?" I challenge.

He frowns at my brazen tone. "Or, you can go get me the sonogram from your trunk."

My saucy brow lowers.

"Once that's gone, you won't have anything left of the baby."

I blink away, thinking about it. I know he only let me keep it, so that I would be too attached to let the baby go when it's born, but it is the only one I have.

"So, what's it gonna be?"

I look back up at him, fury brewing behind my eyes. I take off the apron and throw it to him, storming out of the office towards the stairs. A little chuckle behind me makes me want to cry, but I'm too angry and prideful to let everyone on the floor see me. However, I think most people who bother to look at me can see the despair boiling behind my face.

 **...**

I sit in perfect stillness as Harlan places the cold end of the stethoscope to my chest. He listens carefully, not looking at me, which I can't huff about.

"Heartbeat's good," He jots it down on his clipboard, "Let's hope your blood pressure's gone down since your last visit." _Doubt it._

The doctor moves around the room mechanically, speaking with a cold professionalism. I don't mind, though; this isn't a friendly, happy little check up. Both of us don't have a choice in this matter and Negan's presence only makes it more known and more unbearable.

I lift up my arm, staring either the floor, or to the window, so I won't have to look at Harlan. The human silence in the room conveys the thickness of the tension. Not even Negan's opening his trap; he's just leaning back in his chair by the exam table, waiting for the pièce de résistance.

"It's a little higher than the last time," Harlan reports with an exhale, "It's needs to be lower."

"Well, it's not like I can escape my stress triggers." I croak plainly.

He nods, curtly as he writes down my numbers. "Well, it's important that you try. Too much stress can cause you to go into preterm labor."

Negan slowly sits up. "What?"

"Preterm labor," Harlan repeats, "It's when-"

"I know what it fucking means," Negan cuts off his explanation, "You think that she's at risk?"

"Well, yes, especially given how close she is and how much stress she's apparently carrying."

"But I thought she was too far along for preterm labor." Negan says, which puzzles me.

"You can never be too far long," Harlan replies, "But she is close enough to her date that I wouldn't be too concerned, except that maybe the baby won't be completely positioned for delivery."

"Which would mean what?"

"If it hasn't dropped and she goes into labor early?" The doctor folds his arms. "Well, I could try to adjust it myself from the outside, or if that doesn't work...C-section."

I feel a lump in my throat form. A C-section could mean death in this world, even if Harlan's done it before.

"But she's thirty-seven weeks now, so I think she'll okay, if it does happen."

I look at Harlan who's already gone back to his desk. I can see Negan from the corner of my eye, but I don't dare look at him. He isn't worried about me, all he wants is the baby.

"Fuck." He exhales, but I'm not sure if it's one of relief or frustration.

"We'll take an ultrasound to see how things are going." Harlan goes into the bathroom to wash his hands again.

Someone knocks on the door to the infirmary, presumably looking for Negan, which makes him groans under his breath. "What?"

"We gotta situation down in the east yard," A Savior says through the door, "The gates are compromised."

Negan gets up from the chair, pissed. "Hold off on the ultrasound, doc. I gotta see what this shit's about."

He steps out into the hall, but I don't think he's gone anywhere with whoever needed him. Harlan dries his hands on a towel, before going over to the machine to fire it up. I watch him go around the room in preparation, or an attempt to look busy, so we won't have to make small talk.

"If I do have to have a C-section," I force myself to speak after a second, "What are my chances of living?"

"Well, I haven't had to perform one since the word changed," Harlan opens the medicine cabinet with his back to me, "But we've got medical staples and just enough antibiotics that I think there's a good chance you'll be okay."

I breathe in. "I can't afford that."

"Well, maybe Negan will waive the cost for you."

I bite my lip. "I bet you regret staying, huh?"

Harlan looks up as he pulls on his gloves. "What?"

"I bet you wished you would've ran off when you had the chance."

He nods his head in understanding. "Yes, I guess, I do."

"Me, too." I rasp.

"Did you know about my brother before?"

"Yes," I reveal to him, "I did, but I...I was afraid to tell you. I'm sorry."

"You were afraid that I wouldn't deliver your baby."

I nod, remorseful. "Yes. But I also was afraid you'd want revenge."

"Against your boyfriend...Dwight?"

"Yes, against my boyfriend."

Harlan sighs through his nose. "Why did he do it? Why did he frame my brother?"

"He...he was trying to protect her," I meekly defend him, "But it wasn't right. Your brother was a good person. He was Sherry's friend, nothing more."

"Yeah, neither you, nor Negan needed to clear that up for me," Harlan scoffs, "Emmett was gay."

I furrow my brows. "What?"

"Emmett was gay," He repeats, "If he ever helped that woman, it certainly wasn't because they were lovers, or whatever."

I stare at him, "But...if you knew that, why didn't you say anything to clear his name before?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Dwight was dead...there didn't seem to be a reason."

"Why didn't you say anything when he came back?"

"I don't know," Harlan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Maybe because I'm not the revenge type. Not all of us in this world kill like it's okay."

I nod my head.

"And maybe...I didn't want it to come back on you, or your baby, considering hurting others to punish wrongdoers seems to be Negan's thing. Plus, if you recall, I did have to stitch your hand up a couple months ago."

I want to tell him that it already has come back on us, but the door opens and Negan reenters the room.

"Sorry about that," He shuts the door, "Looks like our east yard gates are in need of repairs. That thin-dicked politician apparently can't drive right and damaged one when he knocked into it. It was fuckin' wide open."

Neither I or Harlan responds.

"Alright," Negan sits back down, "Now that Daddy's back, we can get this show on the road. Proceed."

Harlan exchanges a glance with me, before he nods and comes over to the machine. I lie back on the angled table, pulling up my shirt and lowering my pregnancy band. The doctor squeezes the cold gel on my stomach and then proceeds to run the remote through it.

It doesn't take long for a heartbeat to enter the room. I look up at the monitor and see my baby, double the size it was last time, or so it seems like. It's still foggy, so my untrained eyes can't quite make out what it might be, but an overwhelming sensation comes over me. I smile as fresh tears start to bloom.

"The heart beat is still at 151 beats per minute," Harlan tells us, "That's good. Development seems to be looking good."

"Jesus," Negan says under his breath, "Look how big it's gotten."

My smile starts to lessen at his voice and I move my hand when I feel his touch mine. "Don't."

He doesn't quip back with anything, he just rests his hand on a spot on the table that I'm not occupying. "So, can you tell what we're having?"

"Uh..."Harlan looks back to the screen, apparently having witnessed that, "No, the positioning isn't right."

"Really?" Negan skeptically furrows his brows, pointing to the screen. "Because that looks like a-"

"It's not," Harlan shakes his head, "It's just the way the knee is sitting." He presses a button on the machine to print the sonogram, before getting up from the chair. "The baby's really being modest."

I put my arm back on the table to help push myself back up. I flinch my other arm away when I feel Negan's hand again. "Don't touch me."

I get up from the table and walk over to the bathroom to wash up. I clean the goo off me with freezing colder water. Once I've dried off and redressed, I look at the mirror and take a deep breath, before I turn off the light and exit. Negan's tucking the sonogram into his jacket pocket.

"Let me get you some more vitamins, before you go." Harlan goes over to the cabinet.

"No, it's okay," I shake my head, "I can't afford them."

Negan rolls his eyes. "Get her the fuckin' vitamins."

"I can't afford them." I repeat to him directly.

"You also can't afford the check up you just had, but here you are."

I puzzle my brows. "Physicals are free."

"Not anymore," Negan informs me, "Resources are being used."

I huff, "That'll mean the workers won't be able to afford medical care."

"Then I guess they better not get sick, until shit shapes up around here."

"But Marisol's-"

"Here's a week's worth," Harlan injects our argument, "Unless you want a whole bottle."

I break my gaze to go over to Harlan. "No, I'll take a week."

"I want you to try to reduce your stress."

I stick the vitamins in my pocket. "Yeah, I'll try."

"Alright, worker bee, you gotta get back to your post." Negan walks to the door.

I glance over my shoulder, before looking back to Harlan. "Thanks."

"For what?"

I nod. "Was it really just the knee?" I ask him in near whisper.

"Yes." Harlan says, offering a bland smile, before going to his desk. "See you later."

I smile, "Okay."

Negan whistles, "Let's go."

I turn and walk out of the infirmary.

"What's with the smile?"

I lose it. "Nothing."

I want to cringe when it's clear that he's gonna follow me back to floor. I can't express how angry I am, but I hope my rigid body language speaks volumes, because he hasn't said a word through the entire fourth floor.

When I made my decision that night, I think it hardly needs to be said that Negan was less than pleased. It's difficult to even describe, even though I was up close and witnessed everything on his face. He already has a serious expression on his face, but I could tell that there was a layer of confidence that I would choose to go back to living up there with him and his wives. But when I told him I wanted to go back to the quarters, his face slowly, but surely sunk in what had to be complete taken back shock.

His eyes soften, but only for a moment as he searched my eyes, dejected. They darkened about the same time his mouth form a deep frown. He nodded his head, clearly pissed and then told me to pack my shit in my trunk. Negan then left the room, so I could do so and he could fume, or lick his wounds out in the hall. He opened the door five minutes later and upon seeing that I packed all Frankie's gifts to me, walked over and took them, before having Keller carry my trunk off to the quarters.

I didn't see him again after that. When I got to the quarters, I didn't feel an ounce of shame, or embarrassment, despite all the curious eyes on me. The next morning, Reed came over to my quarter and told me I was going back to being a baker, which I already knew.

"You can take the rest of the day off." Negan finally speaks.

I knit my brows. "What?"

"Harlan said you need to take it easy, so you can have the rest of the day off."

"It's not even noon, yet."

"You'll get your full day's pay."

I scoff, "That's not the point. What the hell am I supposed to do? Sit on my mattress on the floor and twiddle my thumbs?"

"Jesus, fuck!" Negan curses. "I'm trying to be fuckin' nice here, Anna."

"Don't call me Anna," I sharply tell him, "And fuck your niceties, I don't want them."

"Who the fuck do you think you're fucking talking to?" He grabs me by the arm and pulls me back.

"Don't touch me!" I tug my arm free.

Negan steps forward with a severe look on his face. "You might be pregnant, Nan, but if you fuckin' think I'm gonna put up with your fuckin' shit, you've gotta another fuckin' thing coming."

"What will you do?" I cock my brow. "You've already taken everything from me."

"Not everything," Negan growls, "There's always more, so keep pushing your fuckin' luck."

I huff, shaking my head. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" I hold back tears. "You're taking my baby and I promise you that I don't need you coming around to remind me."

Negan's eyes move over my face. "It's not too late to change your mind."

I sigh, looking down at the ground. "Can I go now?"

He stares for a moment more, before he exhales. "Yeah," He allows, "Take the day off, 35."

"34," I correct him as I leave this scene, "And I'd rather earn my way."

 **...**

At the end of the day, I've made a personally impressive amount of pastries. Lorraine didn't say a word about my odd disappearance yesterday, because Reed had informed her of where I was and since Negan was the word, she didn't dare balk. Some of the pastries did get a little burned around the edges, through no fault of my own, so I was allowed to take them to the kitchens where they can be sold for half price.

I go up to the bathroom for a quick shower, since I've been sweating like a pregnant pig all day. I've only got seven minutes, so I'll have to be as fast as I can if I want to wash my hair and my body. The stream is the cooler part of lukewarm which is a mild relief.

I try to let loose of all the agony I feel deep in the muscles and bones. A heartsick sorrow weighs down my shoulders. The little shred of joy I have left in my heart feels so painful...hopeless. Lillian's ramblings are beginning to speak up in my head.

The water shuts off and I don't waste time to get out, so I can get dressed and not have to have the Savior women staring at me like I'm the stupidest and/or most pitiable bitch out there for having my boyfriend turn out to be a traitor, as well as for giving up my baby to Negan, so that I could suffer in the quarters.

As I'm just about finished dressing, Laura walks in with her towel and toiletries. She immediately spots me, but I turn my head away with blinding anger. She opens her mouth to say something, but doesn't as I barely brush past her. I think my cold shoulder and perhaps her good sense told her not to bother. I don't want to hear anything she has to say; we are nothing to do with each other anymore.

Down in my quarter, I sit down on my mattress and open up my trunk to put my stuff away. I stress to make everything neat and narrowly organized for some stupid reason. I try to keep Dwight's chessboard and all the pieces as erect and just so as I can, but rationally I don't think it's possible in the trunk. I've also hidden the cigarette pack in the tear of my trunk. On the other side, I have some clothes folded, including two or three of Dwight's flannel shirts. I took Hal's old milk crate in quarter 35 to put whatever can't fit in the trunk.

I peek around the area to make sure that no one's around, before I cautiously take out the little pair of booties that fell from the pile that Negan took from me. He didn't notice them fall, so I quickly scooped them up and tucked them away in my jacket pocket, until I could hide them in the trunk. I almost cried when he did that cruel thing to me, but I didn't because I didn't want to appear weak. I didn't want him to walk away with a smile on his face, thinking it's only a matter of time, before I come crawling back, begging him to let me move into that prison he called a privilege.

I hold the little booties in my hand like gold doubloons. The jewel green is a deep color that has some strange sway over me. It's as deep as I feel now. The corners of my mouth tip up a little as I think about my baby wearing them on their feet. But the happy fleets fast, as I'm pounded with the reminder that the baby will grow out of them fairly quickly. So quick, perhaps, that I won't be there the morning they try to put them on and find that they don't fit. I could be on my way up to feed the baby just as they make that discovery. I could also just miss a lot of things. Several steps behind.

The footsteps of someone on the catwalk above, signals for me to conceal the booties back into the trunk. I pull out the sonogram I have and look at it as well. It's the first one I ever got, the one I put up on the fridge for Dwight when we weren't living together. The one Negan purposefully let me keep.

I take up the postcard Dwight brought me, too. The Williamson Center for the Arts. I wonder if they really do have the O'Keefe painting this postcard replicates. I tuck them both away when I feel myself getting too emotional.

God, I wish we would've just left when we had the chance. I know Dwight didn't think it'd pan out this way, but by now, we could've been out of Virginia and someplace safe and open. A place where we could both be free to raise our child, instead of being caged in here, where Negan will take and raise it to be like him. That's what really guts me; the fact that my child will grow up to be like Negan. A tyrant who...who always finds a pretext for his tyranny.

My stomach growls so I pick up and head over to the kitchens for dinner. I get a bowl full of chili and a pastry, which counts as a hot meal item, because it's fresh, so I get it for free.

"Hey," Marisol calls behind me, "Nan!"

I look over my shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Hang on a sec!" She pulls her apron off and takes her points card over to Reed, before she makes her way to me. "Can I walk with you?"

"Uh, sure."

"How are you?" She asks me right away.

"I'm fine."

"We were all surprised to see you moved back down to the quarters."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," She says, "Is Dwight gonna be moved back to the quarters, too? You know, after some time's passed?"

"No," I soberly tell her, "I don't think so."

"Oh."

I look over at her as we walk, nervous about asking. "...How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"Even about Simon?"

She turns her head forward. "Um, yeah, I'll be okay. It's not like he was good to me, or...there, you know? Plus, he threatened my babies."

"Yeah..."

"You think I might change my mind about it later?" She looks back my way, uneasy. "Like after the twins are born?"

"I...I don't know."

As we get closer to my quarter, we see a group of workers gathered around the commissary that hasn't yet opened. They all look as if they're reading something, or trying to move close enough to see what everyone else is reading. There's sharp whispers coming from the crowd that sound less than happy.

"What are they doing over there?"

Marisol peers over. "Probably just waiting for the commissary to open."

I set my bowl and pastry down in my quarter, on the top of my trunk, and then set out to see what the commotion's about. I have to work my way through the small sea of people to get to the door of the commissary, where I discover a notice. It's a post informing all workers that the prices for all goods, food, and services will be inflated until further notice due to low supply and high demand.

"This is fucking bullshit," One worker says, "We can barely get by as it is."

"My arthritis has worsened because of my job," Another woman tells the person next to her, "How am I supposed to work, if I can't afford the aspirin for the pain?"

"They can't do this to us!"

"Keep your voice down! You want them to hear you?"

I read the notice over and over, just as furious as when I first heard about it. But, the flippant way it's written really just pushes the envelope.

"This isn't right," I say aloud.

"Shh," Marisol touches my arm, "Terry's coming over."

"Get the fuck outta the way, or I'm not gonna unlock it."

"How long will the prices be up?"

"Read the fucking sign," Terry turns the key that Reed gave him, "It says; 'Until further notice'."

"What does that mean?" A worker asks. "Are the Saviors rationing, too?"

"That's none of your goddamn business," Terry retorts, handing me the key, "Here."

I take it, even though I'm sure he must have forgotten I wasn't a Savior anymore with all the people barking questions at him.

"If we're struggling, so should you!"

"Back the fuck up!" He shouts back.

"What's going on here?" The crowd makes way for Reed.

"These assholes won't back up, so I can open the door," Terry tells him, "They're bitchin' about the prices."

"It's not fair!" A worker calls out.

"Yeah, it's bullshit!"

"Hey, settle the fuck down!" Reed puts his hand up.

"It's not right." I chime in, drawing the attention of everyone standing there, Reed especially.

"Excuse me?"

I look at him. "I said it isn't right."

"Go back to your quarter, Nan," He half-glares, "You eat for free."

"That's exactly my point," I retort boldly, "The majority is struggling, while the few are just fine. It shouldn't be that way."

"Nan." Reed warns.

"Nothing's changed for the Saviors, they still live comfortably. But the workers, who work just as hard and do work that's just as important, have to toil and take abuse and for what? A few lousy points that aren't gonna do a damn thing for them with these changes."

A few workers nod their heads in agreement.

"The workers of the Sanctuary are just as important as the Saviors," I go on, "We deserve to be treated with fairness and respect."

"Yeah!" Some workers say here and there.

"I mean, after all, we give up our boots for you."

Reed looks at me and his brows furrow. "What did you say?"

"You take our boots and you break our backs," I state, which gets more praise, "When will the Saviors return the favor?"

"Yeah, when?!"

I take a brief look at the crowd and then blink back to Reed. "When will the Saviors give up their boots for the workers?"

"If we're rationing, then so should you!" A woman cries out.

"Yeah, take off your boots!"

Reed and Terry look out at the crowd surrounding them. Terry reaches for the gun in his holster, but Reed catches it and stops him. "Alright, listen up!"

The crowd goes quiet.

Reed licks his lips. "These changes are temporary! We're in the middle of a war, we have to ration, but it won't be for much longer!"

"How do you know?" A worker shouts. "The Saviors had to run the other night."

"That was a mishap," Reed tells everyone, "A mishap caused by a power-hungry aggressor, who's exactly where he needs to be." He lets that sink in, as everyone pictures Simon. "The war is ending and we're gonna come out on top, like we always do."

Saviors on the catwalk draw attention to themselves as they curiously look down on the commotion, guns in their hands. The workers take notice, as does Reed on the same level as them. He puts his hand up to tell them to stand down.

"I assure you, the Saviors are rationing, just like you," He adds, "We've all gotta do our parts and suffer what we must in order to win this war. But disobedience and failure to comply with these impermanent changes will result in punishment. As of yesterday, I think we know that no one is exempt from that."

Again, the image of that brutal fight for leadership flickers in the minds of all the workers.

"The commissary will open in one hour," Reed tells all of us, "Take that time to cool off; walk away now and nothing has to happen. If you stay and word gets back to Negan when he comes back, it's out of my hands and I can't stop whatever will come."

The workers stand there for a minute, mulling it over. A few look over to me and I, thinking about consequences of my actions, look down, ever so slightly nodding my head. Once one worker walks off, others follow.

"You should go." I tell Marisol.

"Let's go together." Marisol tilts her head for me to come with her.

But, it's too late. Reed grabs the shoulder of my shirt. "Leave." He instructs Marisol.

I nod and she does, though obviously uncertain.

"What should I-"

"You should come back in an hour and do your job," Reed cuts Terry off, "Now, fuck off."

Terry leaves, glancing over his shoulder at me as he does.

Reed turns his livid eyes on me. "What the fuck was that, huh?"

"The truth," I brave to say, "Which was more than you told the workers just now. The Saviors' rationing isn't nearly compared to what they'll have to go without."

"They're soldiers," Reed snaps low, "They need-"

"Oh, don't give me that!" I roll my eyes, "Not every Savior is a soldier, but every Savior is living well enough to not feel the loss like the workers are."

"We have a system, Nan," He moves me to by the wall, "A system that has never failed us."

"Until now."

"No, not now, not ever," Reed fires back, "Everything is gonna kick back into gear in couple days."

"You mean when Negan traps all those people and kills them all?"

"They should've played by the rules," He says, "Got with the program, which would've kept them alive."

I scoff, "You sound like Negan."

"I am Negan, Nan."

I shake my head. "No, you're not. You're Reed."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that doesn't mean shit around here."

"It does to the workers," I rasp, blinking over to the quarters, "You got them to settle down and you didn't have to threaten violence."

"I did threaten them," Reed huffs, "That's why they left."

"No," I look back at him, "You warned them about Negan finding out. About you not being able to protect them."

"Did you write that note? The one about the boots a while ago?"

"Why did you keep track of the people you killed?"

"What?" He furrows his brows in confusion. "A lot of Saviors do that."

"Proudly," I point out, "But not you. You keep it hidden in a book."

"So fucking what?" Reed nearly yells. "So, I'm not a sick fucking psychopath, who lets Rett tattoo it on my shoulder." He points his finger at me. "Did you write that note?"

I look him straight in the eye, candid, not having to say a word for him to know.

His brows grow troubled. "I can't keep this a secret, Nan. Other Saviors saw what happened, they're gonna tell Negan as soon as he gets back from the bullet factory and he's gonna want to know who started it."

"He's already broken up my family," I reply with a hoarse throat, "And taking my baby."

"You made that choice."

I chuckle incredulously. "Does that seem right to you?"

Reed's eyes scan my face, before he glances off.

"Does any of it seem right?"

He blinks up to my eyes, looking me over. "Go back to your quarter and stay there, 34." He lets go of my shirt. "And pray Negan doesn't make you give birth in a cell."

I watch as Reed stalks off towards his office. He runs a hand through his hair and I make out a curse under his breath. My hand touches my belly; taking in those grim words that I now realize could be a reality. What have I done?

 **...**

I rap my hand on the door, nervous about the chance of getting caught. The door opens up after a second and Hal stands in the frame of the door.

"Nan?"

"Hey, can I come in?"

He looks behind him into the room. "Uh..."

"Is she in?"

"No. What do you want?"

"Let me in...please?"

He sighs, standing aside, so I can enter. "What do you have your coat on for?"

"It's cold," I look around the beer bottled room, "Have you been drinking?"

"What do you want?"

I hold my elbows. "To talk. Is that too much trouble?"

Hal exhales, "Well, I was just about to go to bed."

"It'll only be for a minute," I bite my lip, "Please, Hal."

He looks me over. "Fine, what is it?"

"Why haven't you come to see me?" I ask.

"I've been busy," He answers, picking up a bottle of whiskey, "There's a lot to be done and only so little time."

I scoff, "You're going?"

"Don't have much of a choice, do I?" He tips back the bottle.

"Give me that!" I snatch it from his hand. "What's the matter with you?"

"Take a wild guess."

My eyes follow him to his bed. "Why didn't you tell me what happened?"

"Why would I tell you?" He retorts, "It's not something I want to brag about."

I sigh through my nose. "Why didn't you tell Negan, or...someone?"

"Because I thought it was his orders," Hal looks up, "Simon said Negan wanted us to get control of them, hell or high water. So, when he gave the orders, I...I didn't have a choice. I mean, I did, but if I didn't they'd-"

"They'd kill you." I say, understanding.

"Right."

I look off to the side, exhaling with pity. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," He vaguely replies, sniffing up, "I guess it's all...settled now that he's dead."

"Do you feel that way?"

Hal shrugs his shoulders.

I walk over to his small table. "You keep your gun with you?"

"Yeah."

"How come you don't take it back to the armory?" I pick it up, looking at it.

"Because you don't have to," Hal kicks off his boots, "Afraid I'm gonna shoot myself?"

"Of course not," I glance back at him, "And that's not funny."

He chuckles to at me. "Sorry, Mum."

"Where's Laura?"

"Don't know," He shrugs, "We're not really seeing much of each other theses days."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," He turns his head, "Bit surprised you're asking about her."

I adjust my pants and straighten out the unbuttoned flannel shirt under my jacket. "It's not a social inquiry."

"Why you asking?"

"I...don't know," I tell him, taking up his radio, "Just making small talk."

Hal huffs, "Whatever."

I touch my stomach at the little kick I feel.

His eyes move to my hand. "You're really down in the quarters."

"Yep," I force a hapless, "I'm officially a fallen woman."

He licks his lips. "You're gonna give up your baby?"

My smile goes and I look down at my rounded stomach that blocks sight of my feet. "He wants me to be his wife again, Hal."

Hal continues to stare. "Did you know?"

"About Dwight?"

"No, that I'm a Pisces," He chuckles sarcastically, "Yeah, mate, about Dwight."

I shake my head. "No, I didn't. I mean...I might have been catching on, but I didn't know."

"Would you have said anything, if you did?"

I think for a minute, before sighing. "No."

"No?"

"How could I?" I raise my brow.

"He's a traitor."

"He was trying to stop all this," I put my hands out, "Everything you hate about this place, he was trying to make better."

Hal's eyes blink forward. "Yeah...but..."

"But?"

"But would you be okay with all that?"

"Of course, I would!" I scoff, "I hate everything that the Saviors stand for, too. More so, now that I'm having a child."

"Yeah, but I mean would you be okay with Negan dying?"

My furrowed brows ease back.

"Because Rick made it pretty crystal that Negan had to die."

I let my lips come to a close, peering over to the door.

"There is a chance he's the father of your child."

I groan, closing my eyes in frustration. "God, I wish everyone would stop reminding me of what I already fucking know."

Hal yawns. "Alright, then. Forget it."

I breathe in and out, calming myself. "I tried to convince Dwight to run off after Negan didn't come back."

Hal returns his gaze my way.

"I wanted us to get away," I try not to cry, "To be free from this place...I wish we would've gone. Even if we got caught and had to go back; that time when we could just be alone would've been worth it."

"You would've been found," Hal tells me exactly what we all know, "And Negan probably would've killed Dwight. Is that worth it?"

I raggedly sigh, drying my eyes. "No. I just..." My face starts to scrunch, but I straighten it out, "Don't know what to do; he's gonna take my baby."

He stands up and comes over, putting his arms around me. "Don't cry, love, it's okay."

"No, it's not," I croak, touching his face, "But it will be."

Hal knits his brows. "What? What do you mean?"

I bleakly smile, "It'll be okay."

His eyes look at mine. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," I hug him, "I will be."

"Are you alright _now_?" He asks against me.

"I will be."

"Nan?"

I kiss his cheek. "I love you, Hal."

"You're starting to scare me."

I chuckle with leaky eyes. "I'm sorry, I just...I know what I have to do and it'll be awhile before I'm okay, but I know that I will be, I'll find a way, and more importantly, my baby will be."

Hal takes my arms and gets a good look at me. "What's going in your head?"

"Decisions," I smile, "Past and future."

He nods, quietly looking back down at my stomach. "Why'd you come here?"

"To see you," I take his hand in mine, "You're my best friend."

"You're my best mate." He pulls me in his arms, tight. "Don't do anything stupid, alright?"

"No promises." I laugh, breaking from his embrace. "I gotta go. It's almost lights out and if I'm not there for count, I'm not gonna get any slack."

"Alright...night."

"Night," I kiss his cheek again, "See ya."

"Yeah," He nods, perplexed and maybe a tad worried, "See ya."

 **...**

I walk as cool as I can, keeping a light foot down the hall. I look over my shoulder as I reach the door. "Dwight?" I give a very light knock. "Dwight?"

"Nan?" His voice echoes from the inside. "What are you doing here? I thought I said-"

"Yeah, I know what you said," I interrupt him, "Listen, I did something bad."

"What? What did you do?"

"I spoke up about the inflation and almost caused a riot."

"You what?"

I glance over my shoulder, but its just Lillian. "Reed broke it up, but he can't stop it from getting back to Negan."

"...He doesn't know already?"

"No, he wasn't here when it happened," I explain in a low voice, "He took a late trip out to the bullet factory to check on production. He got back two hours ago and went straight up to his room." I dig at my thumb. "But he's gonna know first thing in the morning."

I hear Dwight give a stressed, angry exhale. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that..."I sigh, pressing my head to the door, "The way the workers are treated isn't right and I was angry about the changes and at Negan...and everything he's done to us; it just slipped out and once it did, I couldn't stop."

"...You should've stayed out of it."

"I know," I tell him, "I know should've. Now, I'm afraid he'll do something to the workers who were involved. Reed gave his word, but what good is that if Negan decides to punish them?"

"Yeah, well, I'm worried about you," Dwight sternly replies, "When he finds out that you were involved, he's gonna take the baby and he's not gonna give you the chance to reconsider his offer."

"I..." I halt what I was going to say, gathering my brows, "You...want me to reconsider?"

He sighs again, defeated. "I want you to be with the baby. I don't want you to feel like you have to live in the quarters for me."

"I'm not," I softly say, "I'm doing it for me. I can't be his wife, Dwight."

"Well, maybe you don't have to be," Dwight suggests, "He's not gonna make you doing anything you refuse to do, right?"

"Y-yeah."

"Yeah, so...maybe you could just-"

"Spend my days up there being a nanny?"

"No, being a mother," He replies, "Look, I'm not telling you what to do. I just...I know how excited you were to be having this baby, I just don't want you to have to give that up."

I swallow down tears. "But...but what if he forgives me for what I did and lets me change my mind and I'm...not happy?" I lick my dry lips. "I mean, I deserve to be happy, too, right?"

"Yeah, you do."

I look down at the floor. "I want what's best for my baby; that's all I want, but...that's such a small room to exist in."

"You know what's good for you, Nan," Dwight claims inside the cell, "And you sure as hell know what's best for the baby, way fucking more than Negan does."

"How do you know?"

"Because all this baby is is another possession with a self-serving purpose to him," He answers me, "Just like everyone else. He's just too fucking arrogant to see it...But not you, you don't see it that way."

I smile. "How do I see it?"

"As your child." He says with a coarse throat.

My smile spreads. I take out the sonogram and the pen I brought from my jacket. I unfold the sonogram and place it on the door, so I can scribble something on the bottom. "I felt it kick again today."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," I gently get down on one knee, "Here." I slide the sonogram under the door.

Dwight takes it the rest of the way.

"Is it too dark to read in there?" I ask him after a slightly long pause.

He finally responds, chuckling to himself. "Is this real?"

I smile warmly. "Yes, I think so."

His joyful laughter winds down. "I love you."

That strikes me like a note. I bite my lip, reaching into my pocket. "I have something else for you."

"More crackers?"

"No," I write a note down on the back and then slip the next thing under the door, "It's not crackers."

I hear the little drag of paper on ground as I get myself back up.

"Wait, what?" Dwight suddenly says. "Nan, what is this?"

"I'll be back soon," I put my hand on the door, "I promise."

"No, Nan, wait!"

I open the my jacket, pulling out the pages from Jane Eyre that I dared to rip out of the book. "Here, Lillian."

"Nan!" Dwight yells at me from inside. "Nan!"

I turn. "Dwight?"

"Nan!" He calls my name again. "Nan, wait, don't go!"

"It'll be okay," I assure him, "I'll see you soon."

"No, Nan!" He bangs his hand on the door. "Don't go, don't do this!"

"Dwight?"

"What?" He replies, panicked.

"I love you." And with that, I walk away.

"Nan?" Dwight asks. "Nan!"

I tread smoothly, taking a deep breath against his railing.

"Nan, come back!"

"I'll see you soon." I mouth, opening up the utility closet where we first had sex. I grab a can of dog food and a can of red spray paint on the shelf above it, along with my pack that I set there for a moment.

Dwight's stopped calling after me, but I hear him cursing on the inside, likely while pacing. Lillian's rambles are also audible.

"Hope is a thing with feathers that perches on the soul," She says to the walls, "No net can ensnare me...I now...I now exert to leave you."

I look at the clock on the wall. I've got about ten minutes until the guard who stepped out to take a smoke break comes back in. I tread lightly, but determinately through the factory. Once I get to the commissary, I set down the dog food, so I can shake the spray paint. I put my finger on the nozzle, not practicing my best cursive as I quickly spell out the message.

It takes me roughly two minutes, which gives me enough time to do the other thing. Whispers and wonderings from in the quarters begin as the hissing of the spray paint surely woke up a few of them. I lift up my shirt a little, so I can get the key from my pregnancy band. I stick into the lock and turn it. Once it's doors unlocked, I open it up, until I can get to the can I left on the floor. With one, two, three good hammerings, I manage to break the key off inside lock.

"Nan?"

I look over to see Marisol in the dark, along with other workers. "What are you doing?"

"Evening out the rations," I answer, opening the commissary, "Take only you what already have in your belongings. Things you can account for within the last two weeks."

"What?"

"You've got eight minutes until Bernard comes in from his smoke."

"Nan!"

"I'll be back." I say, before I walk off towards Reed's office.

"Back?" She whispers after me. "Where are you going?"

Once there, I sneak outside to the window that over looks the mechanic's yard. I make sure I don't see, or hear any guards, before I smash the window. I carefully reach my hand, feeling the wall for the little key hook. My old keys should be there...yes. I take them up in my hands and go back around to the office door.

So far, I don't hear any commotion that would indicate they've been caught. I unlock the door and go straight for the desk I pull out the logs, flipping though until I'm about two weeks back. I tear from the ledgers anything that could prove that things were stolen from the that's done, I look through the motor logs.

I silently close the door to the office and head back out into the cold night. I creep stealthily against the gravelly ground. It's near freezing out, but I ignore it and keep walking around to the east yard. I stop and lie close to the side of the factory when a Savior comes whistling by. A flicker of smoke ignites his cigarette as he strolls, unknowingly past me.

When he's gone inside, I continue to move, but just a little quicker this time. Two guards at the back gates are a little easier to sneak past, considering the idiots are trying to piss through the chain links, like some sort of competition.

Getting to the east yard requires me to pass under the side of the factory where Negan's sleeps. I can't help but glance up when I get to the spot, as if he could possibly spot me from the angle and radio for a lockdown. I hold my breath even tighter as I slide under his non-existent radar.

I finally make it to the east yard, but my anxiety doesn't rest there. I still have to get outside the gates. The gate is still broken, but they've got it held together with chains. Hopefully, I can slide through it.

"Hey!"

I stop dead in my tracks.

"Hands up!"

I put my hands up and wait for Keller to walk around to face me with his gun on me. "It's just me."

"Nan?" He's instantly taken back. "The hell are you doing out here?"

When he lowers his gun, I lower my hands, putting one to my stomach. "I-I was just taking a walk."

"It's one in the morning and you have a backpack."

"I know, I know, lights out, but I-" I wince my face as though I were in pain, "I woke up with some pain and-and I thought I could walk it off. The backpack levels out the weight between my back and front. I- I think need to the doctor."

He looks down at my lower half. "Are you serious?"

I grunt lightly, squeezing my eyes shut as I nod. "Yes, yes, I'm serious. Dr. Carson said I'm at risk for preterm labor."

Keller runs his hand down his rugged face, looking off to the side. "Shit. Alright, come on, I'll take you to the barracks just inside and get Harlan for you."

I nod my head. "Thank you."

I follow Keller in, where he does lead me down the hall a little to one of the barracks similar to where Gregory stayed when he was supposed to sway his people to stand down. I sit down the bed, still making like I'm having a possible emergency.

"Okay, just stay here and...lie down, or something," Keller turns on the light, "I'll be right back with Harlan and, uh, Negan for you.'

"No!" I put my hand up. "Don't wake him up, until we know it's serious."

"Nan, you-"

"Please!"

"Alright," Keller nods, "I'll just bring the doctor, kid, okay?"

"Thank you." I lay in wait, until I'm sure he's gone. I then get up, peek out into the hall and go when I see the coast is clear.

Back out in the east yard, I stalk past the cars and motorcycles to the gate. I push it open as far as I can with the chains around it. Fuck, I'm not gonna be able to get through. I look around for something in the dark yard that could maybe help me. I shrug off my jacket, looking up at the top of the gate that's spiraled with barbed wire. It takes me two tries to toss it just right. My foot sticks into the chain link and I don't waste time to hoist myself up. I climb the fence with urgency, now that Keller's coming back with Harlan.

I pray as I make it to the top that my pregnant belly doesn't endure any harm as I start to climb over. My jacket's pretty thick and I make sure enough that my midsection is met with it, which does result in my hands and legs getting stuck by the barbs every now and then. Because of the added weight, I take off my pack and drop it down before me. Once I'm over, it's smooth sailing. When my feet touch the ground I take a breath, before I tug down my jacket down.

I move towards the front of the factory, luckily hidden by a blind spot that Negan no longer has covered, since Rick's people shot down the guards that one time. I make it to the front fairly easily. Now, I just have to be careful not to get spotted by the guards at the front gates. The dark hides me well enough that I can get to the vans parked off on the side. According to the motor logs, these vans aren't just for show. They've each got enough gas in them and my key ring has two of the keys due to them being stationary for the most part and never really needing to be handled by the mechanics.

The faint growling from the inside of each van confirms what I suspected long ago. I sling my backpack around and get out the letter opener I swiped from Reed's office. I put my hand on the sliding door handle. I take a deep breath. _One-two-three-four-five-go!_ I hesitate, nervous.

"Come on," I tell myself, "You want this."

 _One-two-three-four-five._ I haul open the door, ready to strike. A rotter falls out onto ground, which thankfully makes it easy for me to stick it with the letter opener before it manages to get back up. Another one breaks out of from the back of the van, snatching at me. I stumble backwards, until it grabs my arm. I fearfully tangle with it as I struggle to keep my other arm free from its grasp.

I kick at his legs, until one of them snaps and then I kick again. I stomp as hard as I can onto his skull, nearly gagging at the pumpkin like sound it makes when I've crushed it open. I shake my foot off, disgusted but relieved.

I look back at the factory, but I don't think I've been discovered, since the growling and snarling on the fences sort of hums out a lot of other noises. When I know that no more rotters are gonna pop out, I peer into the van. It stinks but I'll roll the windows down. I shut the door and get into the front seat. By time I buckle my seatbelt, the alarms go off.

Panic leaps into my heart and then ten times more so when the engine stalls. I can hear yelling in the background as well as lights flashing around in search.

"Fuck." I curse, trying to get the car to start. "Please."

As if my prayers have been answered, the van fires up. I smile as I take the emergency break off, shut off my lights, and hit the gas. I head straight down the road, but I know I have to turn right at some point, if I make it that far. In the rearview mirror, all I see is the trees and the blaring light from the factory as it grows smaller and smaller.

I pay close attention to the road, because I can't risk turning on my lights just yet. When I find the road I'm supposed to turn on, I take it. _Calm down._ I try to remind myself that I am not in the clear just yet, certainly not at this point, but relief floods my insides. I put my hand over my tummy. _I'm free._

* * *

 **Thank you all for reading. Bear with me on any errors, I was really busy this week and have had only time for one read through.**

 **PruRose: I know, I wish I could get SY in every week, but alas, I only have time between work and school(which I am out for summer) for one story and so I try to switch each week. I can't wait for Nan to give birth, too! I want the baby to be already :)**

 **CLTex: Yeah, Nan's definitely in for an emotional ride given everything that has happened and everything to come. I think she's gonna also be some hot water fairly soon.**

 **Moorish Woe: Well...you got what you wanted lol. When I read your review, I was like; "How did you know?!" Haha, but I agree, Negan's for sure reached a new low.**

 **Jesbakescookies: Lol I know! Negan's such an asshole! I typically get a few readers who root for him and Nan being together, but after his ultimatum, I got such a flood of Negan hate haha.**

 **StTudnoBright: Oh, trust me, Nan's done tiptoing around Negan and he knows it. I think he might feel some regret, but you never know with that stubborn, arrogant bastard!**


	58. It Was The Only Way

The alarm wails out from the intercom speaker out in the hall. His eyes abruptly open at the high-pitched siren and he sits up in bed. A wife stirs beside him, still sauced from the wine she had earlier. The man moves his feet to the floor as he takes the radio off his bedside table.

"What the hell is going on?"

The radio statics before he gets a response. "The commissary's been busted into," His bookkeeper informs him in a panicked tone, "We're missing food."

"Jesus," The leader rolls his eyes, before putting the radio up to his lips, "Alright, throw the jackasses that did it in a cell and I'll handle it in the morning."

"We don't know who took the food," The bookkeeper replies over the radio, "They were all back in their quarters by time Bernard got back around."

"Well, then fucking search the fuckin' quarters, until you do fucking know."

"Roger that, but I think you better come down here. It's important."

He rubs his eyes, frustrated. "Fine, I'll fuckin' be down in a minute. And turn that fucking alarm off."

The leader gets up and puts on his clothes, grumbling curses under his breath. What a fucking pack of idiots he's got running shit down there. How fucking hard is it to handle a simple fucking search and rescue of fucking spaghetti-o's?

Blankets and sheets slide with movement behind him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," He shortly says, "Go back to sleep."

The wife inhales as she stretches her slender body, before she picks herself up out of the bed. In the sleep shirt that she'd typically only wear when she's sleeping in her shared room, she sleepily traipses out of her leader's bedroom, pulling her long black hair up into a ponytail. By time he's got his boots on, the door down the hall opens and closes.

The leader, indifferent, stalks over to the dresser to get his girl, before he heads out to fix whatever shit show's going on below. It better be goddamn important, because if not, heads are gonna roll.

People kneel to him from their doorways as he passes in the halls, their eyes watching him go with question as to what's going on. Once on the factory level floor, he notices a few armed guards on the catwalks, despite there being no fucking search going on. All the workers are standing by their mattresses, and yet there's no fucking Savior in sight in the quarters, except for the ones trudging by as if they've been given orders.

"Well, fucking check the perimeter again!" The bookkeeper demands into his radio. "Look for any holes in the fences."

"Reed, we've-"

"I don't fucking care if you've walked it twice!" He shouts, "Walk it again! She's..." He falters when he sees the leader strolling up.

"What?" The leader asks with a slight edge. "You were waiting for me to hold your hand, before you started the searches?"

The bookkeepers uneasily adjust his glasses. "We've got a problem."

The leader sticks his tongue in his cheek. "What?"

"The office was broken into," The bookkeeper tells him, opening up the book on top of his clipboard, "The last two weeks of commissary logs are gone, so I have no idea what's missing."

"Where's the inventory list that Terry took last night before lock up?"

"Gone, too," He skims his fingers over the tears, "The rest of my books have been tampered with, too."

"What's missing from them?"

"Nothing," The bookkeeper nervously glances up from his books to the leader, "I think you need to take a look."

The leader rolls his eyes again. "Fine."

The bookkeeper walks and the leader follows beside him, until he stops at the scene of the crime. "The key was broken off into the lock."

The leader inspects the jammed in piece, wiggling it a little to see if it'll come loose. "Get someone to fix it."

"Keller said he might be able to get it out with pliers," The bookkeeper reports, "Does this mean anything to you?"

The man looks up at the wall beside the door that's been vandalized with red spray paint. His eyes trail across the writing on the wall, down to the number at the bottom. "Where's Nan?"

The bookkeeper doesn't respond right away.

He looks at him, before treading off to the quarters directly across. The man goes down the line, until he reaches quarter 34, where he yanks back the sheet partition. He discovers that the quarter is empty, which makes him glance back at the bookkeeper.

"Where is she?"

The subordinate lick his lips. "I don't know."

His eyes intensify with anger. "What the fuck do you mean you don't know?"

"I've got everybody looking for her," The man with glasses tells him, "Keller caught her out by the east gates twenty minutes ago, but she told him she needed the doctor, so he left her in the barracks to get Harlan. By time they came back she was gone. She might have climbed the gates."

The leader scoffs, fucking skeptical of that. "She's nearly nine months pregnant, she didn't climb shit. She's around."

"She had a handful of workers on the verge of a riot yesterday by the commissary and after I got 'em to disperse, I told her I was gonna have to tell you," The bookkeeper says, "I think you need to see what's in the office."

The two men go to the office where everything is kept in order. The younger man searches through his keys for the one that unlocks the door, while the other waits impatiently. He finally opens the door and goes over to the desk, where the logs are spread out.

The leader looks down at the glass that crunches under his boots from the broken window.

"Here."

He walks over to the desk.

"She's logged what she's taken and signed her number," The booker shows him the list, "The four is circled twice for some reason."

The man picks up the book and looks it over.

"She's got a time written down, too, but she couldn't have taken anything at that time. She was at her station working."

The leader's eyes grow dark as he stares at the list. "That's not what it means."

"What does it mean, then?"

The radio on the bookkeeper's belt cuts in. "Reed, we've got a missing van out front."

 **...**

The road is dark and the air coming from the rolled down windows nips at my cheeks and the tip of my nose. I want to turn on the lights to better see where I'm going, but I'm afraid of being seen. I shouldn't be too far from my destination. According to the map, I'm only a few miles away.

The drive's been actually quite nice; peaceful. The last time I drove anywhere was a few months back when we took Carl back to Alexandria, but that wasn't at all a pleasant drive. Being on the road now reminds me that I used to love being in a car, as strange as that may sound.

Whether I was a driving, or Charlie was driving, I was always content. Talking with him about serious things, or random chit chat over the radio. Even when we'd just listen to the radio and not really speak at all; I felt perfectly whole as we drove from point A to point B, slightly devastated when we'd reach our destination, even home.

I think it's because my mom use to put me in the car and drive me around when I was a baby to get me to sleep. As I got older, she use to do the same thing whenever I was throwing a tantrum, or having some toddler crisis. I would wail and squirm, until she'd start the car and turn on the radio. The air conditioning on my face would instantly dismiss my tears and smooth out my face. It was her go to throughout the years, even when I reached high school, which was when it started to no longer have quite the effect she'd hoped for. At that age, she wanted me to open to her in the car as we aimlessly drove through the city, but I remained quiet. That was the routine and I wouldn't break from it and get burned like I had the very few times I had before.

The car starts to slow down and it's because I'm out of gas. The tank was only filled about a quarter of the way when I started out. I let it roll, until I can't compel it to go anymore. It stops about forty feet from what would normally grip my guts, if I didn't know what it was or reminded that it's been here a while and not just recently strung together.

I grab my pack and get out of the van with the letter opener in my hand. The chain of dead ones that are fastened together across the back road, tethered by two trees on opposite sides, growl at me. The ones with free hands paw my way but I'm not getting close enough for them to even have a lucky chance. I climb up the little mound to get up on the same level as the woods, so I can walk around them undisturbed.

I glance down at them as I pass and they stare up, reaching and stumbling. The woods are dark, but my eyes have adjusted enough where I'll be fine, so long as I follow the along the road. Besides, it might be better to foot it at this point.

I check Dwight's watch on my wrist. It's been almost three hours since I left. I haven't heard, or seen any signs of him being hot on my trail. Unless that's what I'm supposed to believe, I don't think they've picked up on my sent yet.

I pull my jacket as close as I can. It's absolutely freezing out here. My throat burns with dryness and thirst, but I don't want to get into my pack for the water. Crickets and nocturnal birds make the walk less eerie. I look up, awestruck by the stars that I can see clearly like crystals above the trees. I never saw stars like that back in Philadelphia. I don't even remember that trip we took to the Poconos having such vibrant stars, but then again my eyes were red and swollen from allergies and the smoke from the fire. No, it wasn't until the world had changed and we got out of the city that the stars became more vibrant and appeared closer, despite how bleak and ruinous the land had gotten.

When I come out of the woods, it's just barely dawn. I look at the strip of buildings that barely make up a town, more like a downtown area not far from some suburbs by the woods.

I shuffle with my tired legs towards the buildings, searching for one in particular. A roamer limps my way with a lethargic growl. I stick it with the letter opener and keep going, desperate to get off my feet. It's cold, but I can feel the sweat trickling down my flesh.

Thankfully, I don't have to travel far. I stop in front of the arts center, taking it in. I don't know what I expected it to look like, but it looks historical, like an old cannery turned gallery. In fact, this whole town looks like an old cannery town. I carry myself and my pregnancy towards the entrance, prepared for anything, even disappointment

The door is a little hard to open, but I manage. The inside has definitely been redone to look like a gallery. There's still art on the walls and statues both erect and knocked over. I walk to the ticket and information desk, moving around it to the back office.

I grab a pamphlet as I walk. When I get to the half closed door, I listen for a minute, before knocking. Nothing. I push the door back cautiously, discovering the room to be empty. My eyes immediately focus on the little bench with a cushioned back and seat. I shut the door behind me, moving over to the bookcase that still has art books fully stocked. I have to put some muscle into it as I move the bookcase over to the door to block the entrance.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and then tread over to the bench, where I plop down in exhaustion. I drop my backpack on the ground, shrugging off my jacket at the same time. I take the gun from the back of my jeans, setting it down on the little end table. Next, I get into the pack for my water. I tip it back, gulping it down to soothe my aching throat. I kick off my shoes as I catch my breath from drinking so fast.

I lie down on the bench, resting my head on the cushioned seat. I bring my hand to my rounded stomach, closing my eyes to rest. _We're here, we made it._ I'm off my feet.

 **...**

While some art is missing from the gallery, there is still quite a bit left. I use to wonder what the point of stealing something like art in this world was, but after being brought to the Sanctuary, I stopped. Those rebuilding life and trying to maintain a sense of everyday living find use for paintings and statues and such, regardless of the fact that they would likely never own pieces like the ones in this museum in their old lives. Its just decoration now, that holds little meaning to the possessor, except for the fact it looks nice. Even the Sanctuary has statues of angels and saints outside, regardless of the fact that any but angels and saints live there.

I scoff at myself. Listen to me, acting like some pretentious art snob. Truth be told, I don't really know anymore about art than anyone else does. I took like two art classes in college that focused on either women artists, or art that focused on women, or femininity. That was about the time I started coming into my sexuality. That was also where I met Sylvie, when she was in the study program.

The woman in the chair, beside the pond stops me for a moment more than the other works I've seen so far. Despite being in a reclined state, she looks like she might be thinking as she stares at her reflection in the pond. Her face seems slightly jaded, like she's not exactly satisfied with herself. Like the ethereal garden and the house in the background don't fulfill her. It's as if her reflection in the foreground pond is all that matters to her in the frozen scene. That shallow, non-vivid image seems to perturb her, as though it were a reflection of how reduced, or empty her life has become.

Then again, I could just be projecting my own feelings onto her, a woman made up of paints on a canvas. My stomach growls, so I leave the painting to go get some food. I packed some bread and jam in my backpack I also packed a can of oatmeal I got from the kitchens and a few cans of olives, which I've been craving lately. I figured I would maybe get lucky and find something here as well.

I sit down in the back office, eating my breakfast, while looking over the pamphlet. I don't think that O'Keefe painting is here. If it was at some point, it's gone now. I look at Dwight's watch again. It didn't really take me long to walk the gallery. It's not very big and some exhibits were under remodeling when the world changed.

After I eat, I explore the gift shop for anything I could use. Dwight wasn't lying when he said it was tossed when he had been here before, looking for the escaped worker. I look over a few books, keychains, and magnets. I find a postcard rack on its side, so I crouch down and glance over a few. When I stand up, I notice t-shirts both hanging on the walls and folded on a table. Well, they're mostly disheveled now on the table, but still.

I could use a clean shirt. I brought some flannels, but really I only have the one shirt that I spilled jam on. I pick through them, looking more for something that'll fit over my pregnant belly rather than the designs. There's a couple of shirts with the center's logo on it, as well as some with certain paintings printed on them.

I only one I find that will fit me is a soft, light gray t-shirt with the art center seal on it. I roll the sleeves a little, before shrugging the flannel back on. It's cold in here and there's really nothing I can do about it.

Right before I leave the gift shop, I spot a little row of shirts for kids. A smile tips up on my face when I see a rack with white onesies with the center's seal on it with "My first field trip was at" printed above it. It's cheesy, but cute, so I take it.

After packing my dirty shirt and the onesie away in the back office, I check the time again and then I put on my jacket and climb the second story stairs. I think I really lucked out. There really wasn't a lot of dead in here when I toured the place this morning. There's about three in the wing that's under construction, but I left them alone, considering they didn't hear me and the doors are tightly chained together.

I go to the staircase that leads up to the roof, which I cleared earlier. The sky is half-light, half- fog with a crisp air. I bring the wristwatch up to my eyes. Three minutes. I breathe, pacing on the roof as I wait. Seabirds squawk towards the back of the center, which makes me stroll that way to peer out at them soaring over, or bickering on the shore.

My radio statics in my hand. "Nan?" He calls, "You there?"

I look down, unfolding my arms, so that I can answer. "Yes, I'm here."

"Well," Negan says with a smart tone, "Good morning, mama bear. Glad to fuckin' hear you're little stunt didn't get you and the baby killed."

I ignore his snide words. "Are we the only ones on channel four?"

"As far as I know, we are," He replies, "Where you at, darlin'?"

I look out at the birds. "I'm surprised you didn't try to contact me sooner."

"I did," Negan informs me with an edge, "But you didn't respond."

"I kept my radio off, until a few minutes ago."

"I thought something fucking happened to you."

"Do you really have such little faith in my ability to take care of myself?"

"It's more the fact that you're pregnant and therefore a slower moving meal," He retorts, "You made quite the fucking mess here."

I turn from the birds. "Are you mad?"

"What the fuck do you think?" Negan retorts with a slight chuckle. "You broke into the commissary, graffitied my wall, stole a bunch of shit, and then ran off in the middle of the fucking night. Do you know how much that's gonna cost you?"

I glance down. "More than you know."

"...I'd ask why you pulled such a dumbass move like this, but I don't think I need to, do I?"

"I just needed some time to be alone," I tell him, "I'm coming back."

"Well, I'm glad we're on the same fuckin' page about that," He says, "Where are you at? That van you took has to be out of gas, right?"

I scoff, "Like you don't know already."

"I don't fucking know," He irritably informs me, "Otherwise you'd be on your way back by now."

I furrow my brows, confused. He didn't go to Dwight's cell?

"Where are you?"

I put the radio up to my mouth. "I'm not ready to come back yet."

"Is that fucking right?" Negan asks in disbelief, "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean realize you weren't ready to come back yet. I was too busy thinking that you broke some major fuckin' rules, including this big no-no, and that the longer you're gone, the more fuckin' trouble you're in."

I move some strands of hair the breeze blew across my forehead. "You can't do anymore than what you're already going to do."

"Trust me, baby," He warns, "There's always more."

I wiggle my cold nose. "You mean keeping me from seeing the baby? You've already threatened that."

"I mean that right now, despite how pissed off I am at you, I'm still willing to let you change your mind about your living arrangements," Negan explains curtly, "But, if you don't come back soon, well...I can't say that choice will still be up for grabs."

I breathe for a moment, before responding. "Are the workers being punished for what I've done?"

"...No, they're gonna be punished for what _they've_ done. You might have ripped out two weeks of the logs, but I'm not fuckin' stupid."

"You haven't punished them yet?"

"No, not yet. I figured we'd wait until you got back, since you're the leader of this little rebellion."

I exhale, "And what about Dwight?"

"Same goes for you're two-faced boyfriend," Negan answers, "And before you ask to speak to him, the answer's-"

"I wasn't going ask to speak with him," I cut him off, "I just want to speak to you."

"...Well, damn, don't I feel fuckin' special."

"Shut up," I tell him firmly, "Don't talk. Just listen."

Negan's quiet on his end for a moment. "...Alright, shoot."

I bite the corner of my lip. "I don't regret what did."

"...Not yet."

"Shut up and let me finish," I sharply reply, "Things need to change. The people in the quarters work hard and all they get ever get in return is measly pay and violence from you and the Saviors. They're just as important to our community as the Saviors and deserve to be treated like valued members of society."

"It's an economy," Negan argues, "Some people win, others lose. That's just the way it is and the way it was before."

"It doesn't have to be that way now," I press, "The world is different. You have a chance to make something better, like we talked about."

"What we talked about was building a better world under the same system I have now," He clarifies, "I never said different."

"Even so, you could still change things," I retort mildly, "Those people you're fighting? Carl's people? They're communities don't have an economy where you have to step on people's backs to get ahead. They all work with each other and treat each other like equals."

"How the fuck would you know?" Negan scoffs over the radio. "You went to Alexandria twice and you didn't exactly mingle with the locals."

I want to fire back that that was because we went there to take from them and return Carl with consequence, but I keep a level head. "Because they care about each other. Enough to kneel to you and enough to fight you for just a chance for a better life."

"Well, that's a real sweet portrait you've got of those people," He sarcastically says, "Did you forget how they've killed our people and how they tried to trap us with the help of your little boyfriend?"

"You would've done the same thing to them, if you were in their shoes."

"Be that as you think it may, they're days are numbered and shit will fall back in order, back to doing things my way and you know why? Because my way fuckin' works, Nan. It's kept people alive and it's put us on the top of the new world. That kumbaya bullshit world you're talking about? That world doesn't exist and it never will."

"Not with how you run things," I retort, "You think you have to intimidate people with that disgusting bat in order to get them to do what you want."

"Watch your fuckin' mouth; Lucille is a lady."

I sigh through my nose. "You know what I think? I think you really don't care about other people. About the lives you claim to save. You use Lucille to make people afraid of you and then you either step on them and ask for a thank you, or you get them to think they matter if they say they're Negan."

The brisk late morning is starting to turn the tips of my fingers pink as I hold the radio. My breath clouds out in front of me.

"But the truth is, is that I don't think you give a shit about anybody but yourself," I continue, "I think you do what you do just to keep yourself alive. I don't know, maybe you convinced yourself that you're doing it for some greater good or you're convincing everyone else that you are, but it doesn't have to be that way. This doesn't have to be the way that you survive."

"...And what way do you fuckin' propose I survive then?" Negan asks me, derisive.

"End the war," I answer seriously, "Agree to compromise with Rick and end the war. Find some common ground and work together, instead of trying to have control over everything and everyone."

"Are you forgetting that Rick, the Widow, and every fucking person in their little piss patrol wants me dead? That I wasn't given the option to live?"

"Maybe if you stop making people work for you and treat them with respect, they'll change their minds. You're a good leader, Negan, or at least you can be," I rebut with honesty, "If you can change, they might be willing to, too."

"...Yeah, well, maybe and might aren't fucking good enough odds for me," Negan answers after a few seconds, "No, I'm done trying to play nice. I gave them several chances to get with the program and they didn't fuckin' want to play ball, so now they've all gotta die." I hear a sigh, before he cuts out, likely taking his finger off the button for a moment. "I didn't fucking want it to have to be this way, Nan, but it's how it has to be."

"So, you're refusing to try?"

"Like I said darlin'; I'm done trying to save these people and I'm sure as fuck not gonna let 'em live, so they can try to kill me another day."

I huff, "I guess there really is no common ground with tyrants."

"So, this _is_ about the baby."

My free hand touches my belly. "You said you wanted to make the world better and safer for my child."

"That's what I'm trying to do, Nan," He says, agitated, "Right now, the only fucking way that's gonna happen is to take out the fucking pricks who threaten what I'm trying to do."

"You think wiping out three communities is gonna make the world safer?"

"Whatever it fucking takes, Anna."

"Don't call me Anna."

"God, what is it with you and being called by your actual fucking name?"

"If you call me Anna again, I'll turn off my radio and you won't hear from me again."

"Are you threatening me?" He asks with a humored tone. "Because I gotta say that it's also sort of a turn on."

I breathe, "Goodbye."

"No, wait," He calls, "Fuckin' relax, it was just a joke."

"This isn't a joke, Negan."

"Yeah, you're damn right, it's not," He agrees, "You need to come back, darlin'. I'll come get you myself, if you tell me where you're at."

"You can come get me when you figure out where I am."

"And how the fuck am I supposed to figure that out?" Negan scoffs.

I ignore his question when I feel a little kick in my womb. I look down, smoothing a hand over the location.

"Nan?"

"What if you're wrong?" I ask him, still gazing at my pregnancy. "You said you had a gut feeling that the baby is yours. What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not wrong," Negan sternly replies, "It is mine."

"Yeah, well, what if your gut's wrong anyway?" I inquire, "What if when the baby's born it's blonde and its eyes are the same color as Dwight's? What will you do then?"

"...We already talked about that, remember?"

"That was when you thought Dwight was dead, when you still had a good opinion of him. Would you feel the same way now that you know he's a traitor?"

Negan doesn't reply right away and it disheartens me. "...It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," I almost yell, "It does matter."

"No, it doesn't," He argues back, "It doesn't matter, because that baby is mine."

I feel an ache in my throat. "No matter what?"

"No matter what."

I nod my head. "Same as everyone else."

"...Alright, you know what? This has fucking gone on far enough," Negan retorts, angry, "I want to know where you're are right now, Nan. I'm not fuckin' around anymore."

The seabirds squabble behind me as I breathe. "How much trouble am I in?"

"I think you already fuckin' know."

I nod again, "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Well, you should've fuckin' thought about that before you did what you did."

"...What if we talked about it when I get back?"

"There's not really much to talk about, sweetheart," Negan claims, "You caused, scratch that, encouraged workers to break the rules and then you ran off like a coward. Someone's gotta pay; someone's gotta be made an example of, so people remember why they toe the line."

I put my hand on my stomach. "What if that person is me?"

"...What?"

"What if I'm the example?"

He's quiet again..."You want to be punished?"

"No, but I'm willing to take responsibility for my actions and pay the price," I glance back behind me, "There's a cost for what we want, right?"

"...And what cost is that?"

I stare out. "I'll make you a deal."

"What deal?"

"My life for theirs."

"Are you looking to be a martyr?"

My eyes stay on the horizon, holding the radio back up to my mouth. "I'll do whatever it takes."

 **...**

It's dark, but he can still make out the murky details of the picture. Her handwriting at the bottom brings both joy and concern. What's written makes him smile, but he can't help but curse under his breath.

He can't believe she left. So close to her due date and despite the consequences. In some ways, he knows why she did it, but at the same time he wants to be angry with her for doing something so reckless. But, he can't bring himself to be angry; right now, all he is is worried for her. He hasn't slept at all since she slipped the sonogram and the postcard under the door, even though his eyes are heavy. She could get hurt out there, or worse.

She said she would be back, but that's what concerns him the most. What's gonna happen to her when she does get back? What will he do to her? Maybe she'll get lucky and run into someone on the other side that'll take her back to Hilltop.

The prisoner's thoughts halt when the light from under the door flickers with shadows. The shadows stop just outside the door and just then, there's a boom-boom-boom on the metal door.

"Rise and shine, Dwighty boy." The leader calls from the other side of the door.

The man looks at the door.

"Man, does this give you the same fuckin' déjà vu feeling that I'm getting?" The asshole chuckles slightly. "You, in that cold ass, dark and dirty cell and me, out here living like the big motherfucker that I am."

The scarred man scoffs in disdain.

"Yep, seems like this is maybe where you fuckin' belong, considering how you keep ending up here, and seeing how it seems like this is the only fucking place where you and I can talk man to man without you trying to put a dagger in my fucking back." The leader tells him. "So, let's talk."

He doesn't reply, he just sits and waits for him to go on, knowing exactly what he wants.

"Our little hen flew the nest last night," The leader says, "Right after she fuckin' broke into the commissary and vandalized my wall."

The man still doesn't answer.

The leader chuckles, "You know she faked going into labor to pull the wool over Keller's eyes?" He chuckles more. "Boy, oh boy, I did not fucking see this coming. I did not think she had the fuckin' balls pull shit like this."

Honestly, neither did her boyfriend. For as long as he's known her, which hasn't really been that long, she's never really done anything this impulsive before.

"But she is in fact gone and I need to know where she's run off to A-SAP," He continues, "So, where is she, Dwight?"

No word.

"She's not far," The asshole on the other side claims to know, "She left me a clue on to how reach her over the radio, so I know she has to be within twenty miles from here and I know that she had to have come to see you before she hightailed it the fuck out of here."

The man doesn't answer, both unwilling to just give him her location and partly bewildered that she would want him to contact her. What's she doing?

The leader chuckles, frustrated. "Are you really not gonna say anything? That's petty as fuck." When he gets no response, he adds, "You know, when she broke into Reed's office, she broke in through the window from the outside. You know what she used to break the window?"

The scarred prisoner listens in the dark.

"A can of dog food."

Fuck. The man closes his eyes as he exhales through his nose. He really does know.

"So, don't fucking try to act like you don't know where the fuck she's gone off to, because I know for a goddamn fact that she was down here last night."

Nothing.

"She's eight months pregnant. She needs to be close to a doctor, so drop the fucking silent treatment and tell me where she's at."

He reaches under his shirt and pulls out the postcard, glancing down at it.

"She doesn't belong out there," He adds, "She's not cut out for this world; she's too softhearted."

The man scoffs again. Give her some credit; she did make it on her own for a few months.

The leader exhales heavily, "She's at risk of preterm labor," He informs the traitor, "If it happens out there, she and the baby could die without help from a doctor."

At this, the man furrows his brows. She never mentioned that.

"I know you don't want that to happen," The leader goes on, "Shit, I know you didn't even have a fuckin' part in her running away, because despite you being a dumbass traitor; I know you're not fucking stupid enough to encourage to her take off."

The man thinks it over. She is close to her due date...and all on her own out there, more vulnerable than she would be, if she weren't pregnant.

"Let me save her, Dwight," The leader presses, "Tell me where she is, so I can bring her back and we can sort it all out."

He flips the postcard over to the message she wrote.

"I'll make you a deal, asshole." The leader says as though he's frustrated, but also on the edge of being desperate enough to compromise. "Tell me where she is, right now, and I'll...I'll see to it that she doesn't have to pay for food and medicine. That goes for after she's done breastfeeding, too."

The man looks towards the bottom of the door at the shadow. "And you'll let her see the baby."

"It speaks," The leader snickers blow his breath, "...She's in big trouble, D. I can't reward her for her bad behavior, or else she won't learn a damn thing and neither will the people she's apparently got some sway with now, if you can fuckin' believe that shit."

The prisoner licks his lips. "Then let her come back."

"...What?"

He shuts his eyes. "Give her the choice to be your wife again."

The leaders quiet for a moment. "You'd want her to move back up to the top?"

The man sighs through his nose. "I want her to be with the baby."

"Huh," The leader grunts, "And if I were to make this offer to her again, you'd endorse it?"

His stomach is sick at the thought, but he nods. "Yes."

"...And if she refuses?"

He scoffs. "Then, I guess you have the baby all to yourself."

Again, the leader pauses briefly. "Alright, if you tell me where she is, I'll let give her the opportunity to raise our baby. But, if she turns me down again, Dwight, I'm not gonna make the offer again. One more chance, that's it."

"Okay."

"Okay," The leader agrees, "So, where is she at?"

The man glances back down at the postcard. "I want to see her."

"Say again?"

He swallows down his emotions. "I want to see her when you bring her back. I want to make sure she's okay."

The leader scoffs loud enough to be heard from in the cell. "You think I'd hurt her?"

"Do you want to know where she is, or not?"

"...Fuck me," The leader curses under his breath, "Alright, fine. I'll bring her by once she's home."

The prisoner nods, breathing in deeply.

"Where is she?"

With a heavy heart, the man places the postcard on the ground and watches the words disappear as he slides in under.

 **...**

The birds fly overhead, making their shrill calls. It doesn't bother me, in fact, I've never wanted to hear birds more in my life than now. The weather is overcast, but aside from my exposed hands and face, I don't really feel the cold.

My eyes stare straight out, past the water. I discovered a large pond out behind the art center. The center's cafe had outdoor seating that overlooked it. I smell salt in the air, so I'm sure that beyond all that tall marsh grass lies part of the Atlantic.

I sit with my back against a log in the soft, salt and pepper sand, feet sunken beneath. I think about all that's happened to me in the past year and a half. Losing Charlie, being brought to the Sanctuary, living on a mattress on a factory floor, accidentally killing Ronnie and subsequently saving Sharon, only for her to die.

Negan setting me up to shadow Dwight and Daryl, losing a sense of where I belong in that process, Claiming that I was "Negan" and losing that bit of my pride.

Hating Dwight, not hating Dwight, that night in the closet and all the other times that followed. The way he held me in his arm when I laid against him. The good times and the bad times. Negan kissing me in Alexandria right before he killed someone.

Sherry running away and Daryl escaping, Dwight getting blamed and beaten. Negan asking me to be one of his wives. Dwight asking me to move in with him and then kicking me out after he found out about Negan.

Marrying Negan, our humiliating wedding night, all the days as I spent as his wife that felt like they didn't have an end or beginning. All the times he wanted me and all the times I let him have me. All the times he was with another wife and I said I didn't mind, despite there being a present desire for him to want me, like some strange sense of approval I didn't know I wanted, only to regret it.

Finding out was I pregnant and all the fear behind the discovery. Leaving Negan and getting my hand broken by him. Telling Dwight I was pregnant out front in the cold night. Negan finding out I was pregnant. Living with Laura while trying to work things out with Dwight. Working things out with Dwight and moving back in with him. The first time we made love since before I had married Negan.

The first time I saw my baby on the ultrasound monitor, the first time I heard it's heartbeat. The first time I held the sonogram in my fingers and the first time Negan tucked a sonogram into his pocket.

The uprising of the people Negan's forced to work for him, Rick showing up at our gates and trapping us inside, thinking Negan was dead, Dwight disappearing for months...the pain I felt when I thought he was killed. Negan interloping in my grief.

The first time I felt my baby kick. The first I felt it kick in my hand. And the first time I let Negan feel the baby kick. The way his eyes were bright and it was like he wasn't Negan and all that being Negan entails.

The talks we had, the things he said and promised that felt real. Finding out that Carl died and Negan had a heart for him. Kissing Negan and sleeping in his bed. Opening the door and seeing the nursery, discovering what he had been planning for months.

Dwight returning and Negan demanding that I make a decision. Seeing Dwight for the first time in months and knowing the moment we embraced that I loved him. Being in the shower with Dwight, him holding me. Him holding me in bed again, his hand gently exploring my skin and resting on my pregnant belly.

Negan being gone and me thinking he was dead, again, and again feeling unnerved by it. Simon's betrayal, Negan's return, Simon's plan to stage a coup, Negan and Simon's fight for the top. Laura's betrayal, Dwight's betrayal, Negan's ultimatum.

My hands each feel the sand, gripping millions of little pieces into a solid mass. Negan's ultimatum...his flirtations, his games, his overbearing, his captivating presence, his piecrust promises, his fickle affection, his incessant mocking, his cutthroat words...his sincere sounding words. His lies, his tyranny, his justifications, his selfishness, his willingness to take without compunction.

Everything, all at once, presses on me like a pile of rocks. It's been a hard year and it's only going to get harder. I don't know how I'm going to cope with what's to come.

I inhale deeply, trying to let go. As I exhale, my breath juts out as I break down. I despair, crying uncontrollably as I release my sorrow and anger. I never thought my life would be like this. Not just the world changing, but every fucked thing that's happen to me since. How the hell did my life wind up this way?

I hold my shins as I continue to cry, despite trying to get a hold of myself. The breeze burns my icy cheeks where tears have made streaks. _You have to calm down._ I run the back of my hand across my eyes and under my nose, sniveling.

My right ear picks up on the sound of a twig snapping behind me. I swiftly pick up the gun on my side and turn towards the noise with the gun pointed in that direction.

Laura puts her hands up. "Easy."

I keep the gun pointed at her.

"You can't shoot with your right hand, remember?" She says, "Besides, if you shoot from where you're sitting, you're gonna hit me in the knee, maybe the shinbone."

"I can't say you wouldn't deserve it," I reply, cold, "Of all the people Negan could've sent to come and get me, it had to be you?"

"I volunteered to go," She informs me, "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

I huff, "I'm not made of glass and despite what everyone thinks, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Sure about that?" She asks, looking at my poorly state.

I scoff through my nose. "So, are you like Negan's right hand now?"

Laura stands with her hands up in place. "I had to tell him, Nan."

"You lied," I sharply say, "You told Negan that Dwight and Daryl talked at the Hilltop. That was a lie; you made that up because you didn't want to explain to him that you knew the entire time and didn't say anything."

"D lied to all of us, even you," She retorts, "He was working with those people. He let Saviors get killed, Nan. He killed Saviors."

"He was trying to put an end to all this. To all the misery the Saviors cause." I keep back the tears. "All the misery that Negan causes everyone."

"Negan-"

"Negan would throw your ass in a cell to rot next to Dwight, if he knew that you lied to him."

Laura stares. "So, what? You're gonna rat me out?"

I look her over, before I lower the gun and return my gaze to the water. "No, I'm not."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," She says behind me, "After what I did a few days ago, I wouldn't blame you for wanting to shoot me either."

"Yeah, well, as much as I want to, I'm better than that," I watch the smaller birds dip beneath the water, "And besides, I'd rather you regret what you've done and have to live with it."

"...I already am."

"Good." I say indifferently.

"I didn't say anything before, because I was afraid that-"

"That Negan would put me in a cell and take my baby?" I wryly inquire. "You didn't mind a few days ago."

"I had to tell him," She claims again, "Simon let Saviors get killed. He was going to run the Saviors into the ground and Dwight would've let it happen, because he knew he was in good with Rick."

My eyes follow some littler birds that are just small enough to balance on the tall grass. "Dwight wanted the workers to stand up and fight back, so that the Saviors wouldn't have a choice but to let Rick and his people help us out of the Sanctuary."

"Yeah, and give Negan over," She scoffs, "You left that part out."

I breathe in and then out. "I didn't forget that part."

Laura steps a little further into my peripheral vision. "You wouldn't have cared? All Negan's done for us, for you, and you'd just serve him up on a platter?"

I let out an incredulous chuckle. "I admire your loyalty, but, um," I lick my lips, feeling tears, "I can't stick my head up his ass, until I can no longer see how the good he's done doesn't outweigh the bad."

She shifts her weight onto one leg. "Well, what about your baby? What if it's his? What if that plan had worked and Negan was killed? How would you explain that to your kid when it got older?"

I blink bleakly, still staring out. "I'm not really concerned with that right now, considering it didn't happen and he's alive." I look her way, "Right now, all I can think about is how I'm gonna explain to my child why it's father doesn't have shoes on in the blistering heat as he puts dead people on the fence."

She matches my gaze. "You really think it's D's?"

"I don't know," I rasp, "All I know is that I have to be a really good mother either way, so that maybe one day my child will understand why I've done what I've done."

Laura furrows her brows. "You mean breaking into the commissary?"

I scoff, shifting my eyes back to sun sinking towards the horizon. "No, I have nothing to be ashamed of there."

"Then what do you..." She trails off when that all too familiar whistle breezes through the air behind us.

My brows knit slightly, before I peer back her way. Laura looks at me as if she's sorry. Angry, I turn my head forward again, not wanting to look at her. I can hear his footsteps against the grass that's lead up to the beach.

"What a little slice of heaven you've got here," Negan says with his usual asshole tone, "Nice decor and your own private beach." He walks into sight, nearly eclipsing Laura. "You're livin' the dream, my dear."

I take a glance at Lucille, before blinking up to his eyes. "I thought retrievals were beneath you?"

"Well, I figured I'd make an exception for you," He grins, "I did say I would come get you myself, didn't I?"

I look away. "I just assumed you were being facetious. Or lying."

He scoffs, humored. "Well, I wasn't. I wanted to personally see to it that you were brought back safe and sound."

"I thought that's why Laura tagged along."

Negan peers over his shoulder at her and I can only guess that she looked off in mortification. He shifts forwards. "Laura would you be so kind as to fetch me Nan's gun?"

Laura walks over, probably internally sweating bullets that either I'm going to shoot her, or he's going to hit her with Lucille. But when she reaches for the gun, I hand it to her, catching the mild, smart flinch she did. She puts the safety on it and then tucks it behind her.

"Why don't you go load up all the shit Nan took into car?" Negan instructs, "I found her little suite in the back office at the front."

"Sure." She barely says, before heading off towards the building.

Negan briefly glances in her direction, before looking back down at me. "Wish you were here." He reaches into his pants pocket; bring forth the postcard I left Dwight. "What an thoughtful message."

"I knew you would ask him where I was," I reply, "And I knew he'd tell you where I was."

"Well, aren't you a smart cookie?"

"I'm surprised you didn't ask sooner."

"I did," Negan tells me, tucking the postcard back in his pocket, "I went down to the cells before I even talked to you."

I furrow my brows. "Then why were asking me where I was?"

"I didn't want you catch on and take off, before I reached you."

"So, why did you wait the whole day to come get me?"

Negan rests Lucille on his shoulder. "We searched the perimeter around the Sanctuary, figuring you'd run out of gas before you got too fuckin' far. When we didn't find you, I asked D."

"It's barely an hour's drive from here."

"I know that," He says, "But I had Laura stop the car, so I could talk to you in private."

"That was hours ago. Why are you just now showing up?"

He chuckles. "Eager to get home?"

"No," I crossly answer, "I just want to know why you let me sit here for the whole day, when you could've had me back before lunch."

"Well, if we took the main roads, we'd risk getting knocked off the path again by those pricks and the van you took picked a great spot to stop rollin' because the road was too narrow to go around it, so we had to get out, move the dead fucks outta the way, and then push the fucking thing until we could get it cleared."

I nod my head, looking out.

"So, it wasn't so much of a slacking off sort of thing, so much as it was a pain in the fuckin' ass obstacle."

I nod again.

Negan follows my gaze. "You are a real piece of work, baby. I'm actually pretty impressed you managed to put together an escape plan on such short ass notice."

"It wasn't short notice," I tell him, "I'd thought about it when you didn't come back with them."

Negan turns his head my way.

"I wanted Dwight and I to run off and go someplace quiet and safe. Away from it all."

"We're about twenty miles out from the Sanctuary," Negan scoffs, looking up, "I bet you can see the place from up there."

"You can't," I reveal, "It's nice, but I wasn't talking about moving here. I don't know where we would've gone, I just wanted to leave the Sanctuary and all the bad memories behind."

"So, then how the hell did you're little burst of freedom lead you here?"

"Dwight gave me that postcard awhile back when he came out, looking for a runaway worker," I exhale, "He recognized the painting from the tattoo under my arm and brought it back for me. I wanted to see if it was still here."

Negan stares at me for a moment. He takes Lucille off his shoulder with a sigh. "Alright," He steps over to me, "Time to go home. Get your shoes on."

I take good last look at the water, before uncovering my feet and putting on my shoes.

Negan puts out his hand. "Come on."

I inhale and exhale, stilling the sorrow I feel in every fiber of my being, before I accept his hand.

He pulls me up, taking my other arm as soon as he can to steady me when I falter a little after I push off from the log. "Easy does it."

I take my hand back from his. "Don't act like you care about me," I huff as I walk past him, "All you care about is the baby."

I don't have to walk through the art center to get to the car, but I do anyways as some sort of sullen form of goodbye. Negan follows, but I don't say a word to him as we go from the patio entrance all the way to the front doors. By time we reach the front, Laura's already got everything loaded.

Negan reaches over me to hold the door open. While I ignore whatever gesture that's supposed to be, I make myself turn back once more to capture the ruins of this place that housed me for a very short period of time. I then exit and walk out to the car Laura's leaning on as she smokes. She flicks the cigarette as we approach and goes around to the driver's side.

I go to the backseat door, open it for myself, and climb in. Negan gets into the passenger's seat and Laura turns the key in the ignition.

"Alright," He says again, sounding almost exhausted, "Let's get the fuck outta here."

Laura puts the car in reverse, backing up a little, and then shifting back into drive as she turns us around to go back the way we came. I lean my head on the cold window, staring at the water as it disappears between trees, until it's gone.

 **...**

The drive back to the Sanctuary is silent and if I gave a shit, I would say it was uncomfortable, too. Negan didn't say anything the whole time, which is a rarity, and Laura shifted in her seat a lot, as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin. The tension is really between Negan and I; she's just stuck in the same space as us with nothing to keep her from her own thoughts.

I let my head continue to rest on the window for mostly the whole ride. Occasionally, my eyes would unglue from the reeling outside when I got the suspicion that I was being watched and occasionally, I would meet eyes with either Laura in the rearview, or Negan in the mirror on his sun visor. In both instances, I just apathetically averted my eyes.

Just once during this time, I closed my eyes as I felt a little bit of pain with the movement from within me. I put my hand there and waited for it to pass, breathing through it. It resulted in one of those moments where I caught Negan looking at me.

When we finally make it back, Laura pulls around to the back. As we drive along that way, I catch sight of Simon for the first time on the fence, growling and snapping just the same as any of the others who've seen the car. I lay eyes on one of the guards as the car rolls past him after the gates are opened for us. Laura parks right outside the mechanic's yard, which is lit with one expecting lamp that can't illuminate the whole of the dark garage.

Before I have a chance, Negan opens the door for me. Again, I don't show any gratitude as I get out of the car. Laura opens the trunk and pulls out my backpack, which is notably lighter looking, even in the nighttime. Negan takes it and she goes off to give the keys back to the Savior who's been waiting up for us to get in.

Negan looks at me, raising his brows as if to ask what I'm waiting for. "You know the way."

I breathe through my nose, before nodding slightly and walking inside. I hold my head up as I walk past all the quarters. A few heads move as I go by, curious. As we get closer to the stairs, I look upon my work on the wall, that's not been completely scrubbed out yet. What once read: "Tyrants know no common ground" now just reads "no common ground" as a worker applies a scrub brush and whatever's in the bucket beside him to the wall. The commissary's being guarded by a Savior.

I turn to go into the stairwell to make my climb, but Negan's hand takes my arm and steers me to the hall just by it.

"Nope." He says as he takes me down the hall.

I yank my arm free; afraid he's lied to me again. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making good on my word," Negan tells me, "Unless you'd rather not see him."

I stare at him, perplexed. "Y-you're taking me to see Dwight?"

He looks away, gliding his tongue across his teeth. "You're just gonna tell him you made it back okay."

I glance down the hall and my feet follow. I almost pick up the pace, desperate to see him, but I don't. When I make it to his cell door. I put my hand on it, leaning in. "Dwight?"

"...Nan?" He responds, "Is that you?"

I nod my head. "Yes, it's me. I told you I'd be back."

"Are you alright?" Dwight asks me, closer to the door now.

I look over at Negan, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "Can you open the door?"

"Nope," He curtly tells me, "I agreed to bring you by when I got you home, I didn't fuckin' say I was gonna let you see each other."

I bitterly glance back to the door. "I'm okay, Dwight."

"You aren't hurt?" He replies with an echo.

"No, I'm not hurt," I confirm, wishing we had a little privacy, "Hey, listen, I'm sorry I took off. I know I said I couldn't leave you here, but I..." I search for the words, "I couldn't breathe in here and I just needed a little fresh air."

"It's okay, I understand."

"You aren't mad at me?"

"No, honey, I'm not mad," Dwight assures me, "I was just worried about you. I was afraid something would happen to you out there."

"Well, I'm fine. You aren't hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm not, I'm okay."

"Good," I lick my lips, stealing a glance Negan's way, "I was worried you might be punished for everything I did."

"Don't worry about me," He rasps, "Worry about yourself."

"Okay," I nod, "Um, listen, I need to tell you something."

"What is it?"

Tears pool around my eyes. "I, um, made a deal with Negan to move back to the top floor, so that nobody would have to be punished because of me."

"I know."

I gather my brows. "What do you mean you know?"

"I gave Negan the postcard in exchange for him offering to let you come back," Dwight reveals to me, "I mean, it was your choice, but I was just hoping you'd take it."

I stare at the door. "You...you want me to? You won't hate me?"

"No," He sighs, "No, I won't hate you. I want you to be happy and you wouldn't have been, if you had the baby taken from you."

My face scrunches as I start to cry. "That's why I did it," I confess, "That's why I broke into the commissary and ran away."

"What?" He inquires with concern in his voice.

I sniff, "I had to do it; it was the only way I could bring myself to do it, to move back up there."

Negan stares at me, but I don't look his way.

"I knew Negan would hurt other people, instead of me for what I did," I croak, "So, I ran off and I waited for him to contact me, and then I made him a deal."

Dwight's quiet in his cell.

"I'm sorry, if I worried you for nothing," I continue, "I just couldn't do it any other way. I couldn't give my life away without having to in order to save someone else." When he doesn't say anything still, fresh tears start to form. "Can you forgive me?"

"...There's nothing to forgive," He finally answers, "You did what you had to do."

I smile as the tears roll down. "I love you, Dwight."

"I love you, Nan,"

Negan straightens up off the wall. "Alright, time's up. Let's go."

I wipe under my eyes. "I have to go now."

"Alright," Dwight says, "I love you. Take care, okay?"

"I will," I tell him with a shaky voice, "Hang in there. I love y-"

"That's enough," Negan grabbing my arm and making me move forward, "Get your ass upstairs, before I change my mind."

I dry my tears as I walk, collecting myself as I emotionally shift gears. Again, Negan's behind me as we go through the factory, floor-by-floor, stairwell-by-stairwell. I few people who are still up grow silent as they realize who's passed their open doors.

My knees are killing me by time I reach the very top, but I feel that even if I weren't carrying extra weight, it would still be a hard climb. I stop just before the door, unnerved.

"Well?" Negan says below me.

I take a breath, before I open the door. The floor's dark, but I don't mind. I really don't want the wives hovering me at this hour. Negan shuts the door behind me and it's then that I move my feet down the hall. I go straight for the room where I agreed to sacrifice myself to live in compromised misery for as long as I live.

I don't turn on the lights when I enter. I scan the room, which is exactly how it was the last time I saw it. At least, I think it is; it's hard to see. The smell of his cologne files in behind me.

"You want something eat?"

"No." I coldly answer. I'm tired and hungry, but I don't think I can eat.

"I'll grab you a towel, so you can-"

"No," I repeat with the same amount of remove, "I just want to go to bed."

"Alright," Negan replies, a little frustrated, "Hit the loo."

"I don't have to go."

"Well, I hope not, because you won't be able to go again until the morning."

I turn halfway. "What?"

Negan's stern eyes meet mine in the dark. "You're not out of the woods yet; you broke some rules and until I can trust that you are back on the program, you're locked in at night."

I scoff, "But you-"

"I said I wouldn't punish Dwight or any of the workers involved, if you came back here," Negan clarifies, "But this is still my game and you'll play my rules, or the deal's off."

I stare at him, knowing he's perfectly serious. Despite being angry, I nod my head.

"Alright," He concludes dryly, "Have a good night and welcome home, Nan."

"You mean welcome to prison."

Negan pauses as he's walks out. He looks me over, Lucille on his shoulder, "Well, you did say you wanted to be put in a cell."

I watch as he closes the door, furthering the darkness. I still stare in the door's direction, my heart dropping as I hear the key slide in and the lock turned into place.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **WritersBlock2018: Lol I know, it was sort of a shocker for Nan to take off, but hey, she had to get out. I'm glad you like the chapter and all the turns and emotions!**

 **kaylee00: Thank you! I'm happy to enjoy my writing, as well my OC. Nan definitely gets mixed reviews for her choices. I love Negan, too, even if he's being a total dick to her right now.**

 **WickedlyMinx: Nope :) She didn't end up in Alexandria. It's currently unoccupied and she's never been to Hilltop, so I couldn't send her there either. I did for a time think about sending Nan to Rick and team family, but I thought her returning to Sanctuary would result in better drama.**

 **CLTex: Yes, go Nan! Even if her trip was really short-lived, I think it's setting the road for a new (non-romantic) relationship between Negan and her. And ugh, I hate that Negan's being so awful to her, but I feel that's maybe how he'd handle this type of situation.**

 **Guest: Aw, sorry to say that Nan wasn't headed to Hilltop! I know a lot of people wanted her to get away someplace safe, but I don't feel she would leave with the intention of never going back, because it could mean something bad for Dwight or the workers.**

 **MoorishWoe: Well, she has gone back to the top floor, but Nan has grown and you're right, she's not gonna be walked all over anymore. And yeah, Negan's for sure gonna try to be cordial with her, but she's not biting.**

 **PruRose:I have seen Fury Road and I love it! Nan's totally going through a similar situation with trying to have autonomy for herself and her baby. I love Dwight, too!**

 **StTudnoBright: I'm proud of Nan, too. She'll have toe the line a little now that she's back but unless she pulls some bonkers stunt, Negan's not gonna kick her out now that he's got her back, so I think she'll definitely use that to her advantage.**


	59. I'm Not Yours

"Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart...I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal — as we are!" -Charlotte Bronte, _Jane Eyre_

* * *

 _I shovel dirt into the open grave. The rain pours down in buckets, but I don't give up the messy task at hand. It's something that needs to be done. He's been wanting to rest for so long now and I can't deprive him anymore; I owe him this._

 _The whistling behind me grows closer...I think. It's hard to hear over the rainfall. I fill the grave with shaky arms, since the dirt is now mud and much heavier. But it needs to be done; it's time to pick up and move on from this place. It's not just about me anymore._

 _"What's it gonna be, darlin'?"_

 _I pause what I'm doing and slowly turn around. I stare at the man before me with a bundle of white fabric in his arms. My drenched clothes weigh down my body. I suddenly notice the perfume of earth to my nose._

 _I've seen the man before, here, in these woods, but he's never been so close to me. The shovel in my hand loosens when the bundle makes a light cooing noise. My eyes travel down and I feel a sudden eager curiosity, a need to see. My hand reaches out to touch the delicate fabric and unveil what's behind it._

 _He suddenly grabs my hand as quick as a snake, making me jump in surprise. "I didn't want it to have to be this way."_

 _I look at him, perplexed and afraid. The bundle produces a crying sound._

 _The man looks back with stern eyes and a glint of a smile. Then, without warning, he shoves me back and I have no ground beneath my feet. My back hits the dirt, hard, taking the breath out of me. Before I can move an inch, the man with the crying bundle in one arm kicks dirt into the grave. My sight knocks out, but the wailing gets louder, more distraught._

 _ **...**_

My eyes open at the sound of a key roughly sliding into the lock of the door. I stare at the wall as I listen to the bolt move out of the wall. The door creaks opens and the hand that holds the blanket to me tightens.

"Rise and shine."

I turn my head towards the door at the tall figure standing in the way. I would tell him to fuck off, but I do have to go to the bathroom, so I roll over the other way to get out of bed. I feel exhaustion in my bones and my head pounds as I lift it from the pillow.

"How'd you sleep?"

I groan under my breath as I move my aching limbs to the end of the bed. I pick up my jeans off the floor to put them on, so I can walk to the bathroom. The cool air raises goose bumps on my skin.

"Hope it wasn't too cold in here last night," Negan continues to shoot the breeze, "We'll see if we can find you a space heater. Might be one in D's old room."

I bite my tongue and get out of bed, pulling my pants up and fitting the band I left on over the top.

He chuckles. "You givin' me the fuckin' silent treatment?"

I tread over to the door, praying that he'll just move out of my way. I stop just before him, looking up to notion for him to step aside. When it doesn't look like he's gonna move, I open the door all the way and inch past him.

The clock on the wall reads five-ten in the morning. He couldn't have just let me sleep until six? I don't see any of the wives up this early, which is honestly fine by me.

The bathroom is freezing cold when I get in, due to the window above the shower being open. I'm not showering, or bathing right now, so I'm just gonna ignore the chill and pee. I close my eyes in relief; I've had to go since about midnight, but since I was locked into the room, I had to hold it and hope that sleep would make me forget the pressure on my bladder.

I dreamt twice that I had wet the bed and that Negan had come in in the morning, angry yet humored by the discovery. He would then make me fill up the tub with cold water, so that I could sit in the bath and scrub my unclean sheets, while simultaneously cleaning myself up. I woke both times with a feeling of humiliation as his abuse and mockery still rang in my ears, checking to make sure that it was just a dream and that my sheets were dry.

And if I wasn't dreaming of that, I was dreaming the same dream over and over again. Always beginning and ending on the same marks, each time just as ignorant of what to do to alter the course. How to save myself from being shoved into the grave, or how to help that crying bundle in the man's arms. It's one of those dreams that just reel inside your mind all day as you try to make sense of it.

After washing my hands, I dry them on a towel and leave to go back to my room. I suppose I should be somewhat grateful, if I had any sense of gratitude, that Negan's apparently going to unlock the door around the same time that he gets up, considering that I won't have access to the bathroom whenever I want throughout the night. But, I'm not going to say thank you. When I have to, I'll swallow my pride and say it, along with" please" and may I?" But I've got a small window of time where I've got nothing to physically lose yet, so I feel no shred of obligation to give him even the slightest thanks.

I walk through the open doorway to my room, determined to lie back down for a while longer.

"Relieved?"

I look over to the other side of the room, where Negan sits in the rocking chair with his foot resting on his knee.

"I'm surprised you didn't piss yourself in the middle of the night," He grins, not knowing how truly unfunny that is, "Jesus, you look like hell."

 _I'm in hell._ I pad over to the bed to get back under the covers. I turn away, so I'm not facing him anymore.

"Breakfast is at six-thirty sharp," Negan tells me, making the rocking chair creak as he gets up, "I want you to be there, front and center, so we can go over some ground rules, is that clear?"

I gaze at the wall, drained.

"I said, is that-"

"Yes, I'll be there," I snap, "Now, leave me alone."

"Perfect." Negan says curtly, before strolling out the room. "Ta-ta."

The door shuts a little forced and I shut my eyes, wondering how in the world my life became this.

 **...**

I wake up again around six-fifteen to the sound of a door slamming and the shower running a second later. I lay for a while, fighting the urge to go back to sleep and listening to the voices of the wives as they talk amongst each other. By time I here the cart that brings up breakfast roll past my door, I haul myself out of bed.

I flip on the light because it's still a little dark in here. The rack of dresses is gone, most likely taken by Amber when she moved rooms. No matter, I can't fit in them anyway and I don't intend on wearing one again when I can. I find my trunk where the rack once was and I can't help but to feel nervous. I'm sure he's gone through it.

I go over and open it, getting down on my knees to have a closer look. The clothes I had in here are still all present, tossed from their folded state. Even Dwight's shirts are still inside, which probably just means that Negan didn't know they were his. I go through the rest of it, finding all my food, toiletries, and cooking ware and utensils gone. Dwight's chess set is also missing.

The picture of that couple is gone, but I don't really care about it enough to be angry. I touch my right pocket feeling all three rings I stored in there before Negan and Laura came and got me. I take them out, placing the two wedding rings back into the tear of the trunk's lining and place the one Charlie gave me back on my finger.

I fish out some fresh clothes and rise up with help from the end of the bed. I wait for the door of the bathroom to open, before I make my move. I do need to shower, I can smell the sweat on me, but I'm hoping to avoid any inquiries that the wives make about my actions. Luckily, they've all seemed to have gone to the drawing room, or to their bedrooms, clearing the hall.

Inside the bathroom is warm with lingering steam from the showers taken by the girls. I have about ten minutes before breakfast, so I don't waste time in getting undressed and in the shower. The water is warmer than the water in the showers downstairs. I'm not sure how they managed to rig that, but I'm glad.

After I towel off and get dressed, I borrow Hazel's comb and run it through my hair. I wipe the steam from the mirror, seeing my reflection beneath the fog. Despite the jaded look in my eyes, my skin still has this luminous glow to it. Pregnancy really keep you looking fresh, regardless of how emotionally depleted you feel. The baby kicks a little against my stomach and it sort of hurts, but I also find it comforting.

The rumble of Negan's double doors can be heard from here, which must mean that it's six-thirty. I sigh, running my hand along the place of movement. "Let's go."

I exit the bathroom right as the two workers from the kitchen are leaving. They both look at me as they pass and I look back, unsure of how I should feel; ashamed, or...I don't know. I did technically risk theirs and every other worker's safety with what I did. But, the two don't give me any looks that might indicate upset, or anger.

Once they've gone, I head to the dining room, ready to face that crowd. I don't hear any conversation of any kind, which unnerves me. When I come into the doorway, the girls look from their meals that they're silently chewing.

Negan drinks from his coffee mug, setting it down by the top, before looking my way. "Didn't I say six-thirty sharp?"

I sit down in the same space I've always sat, trying to ignore his gaze.

"It's six thirty-two," Negan informs me, "You're late; I said I wanted you front and center at six-thirty on the fuckin' dot."

I look over at him, meeting his firm eyes with my indifference.

Negan scans my face, before breaking into the a grin. "Damn, darlin', you are intense," He chuckles, "Lighten up, I'm kidding."

The wives no longer hold their breaths, returning to eating. I make myself a plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns. As much as I'd like to say fuck it and pour myself some coffee, I stick with the freshly squeezed orange juice. The tension is thick enough to be cut with the butter knife on my left.

We eat in silence for a good while, majority of us at the table waiting for the leader to speak. The baby kicks some more, but I take care to not touch my belly or give any indication that it's moving. I just experience by myself. As far as Negan's concerned, the baby's resting for the remainder of my pregnancy. I don't want him to touch me.

Negan clears his throat after about twenty minutes, taking another sip of his coffee. "Alright, let's get it all out on the table."

No one says anything, but we're not supposed to.

He looks over at me. "Nan's come back home. For good this time."

I pick up my eyes from my plate.

A small smile tips up in the corners of his mouth. "But due to her recent stunts, she's on a tight leash, until she can redeem herself." _Fuck you._

I want to scoff and tell him to go to hell, but I know that'll only amuse him.

"So, we've got some new house rules that everyone's gonna abide by, or the luxuries that you're all so accustomed to having are gonna start disappearing," He turns his head towards the rest of the table, "Understood?"

The girls nod their heads, not needing that "or else" to know not to break these new rules.

"Good," Negan returns his eyes to mine, "Rule number one, you, my dear, are not allowed off this floor without me, or Amber accompanying you."

My eyes quickly steal a glance across the table at the blonde whose eyes look particularly doe-eyed with this news.

"Rule number two," He waits for me to look back at him, "If you do go anywhere, you radio me beforehand and get my permission."

I glare at him, but I don't protest, knowing I don't have a choice no matter what.

"And I want _you_ ," Negan peers over at Amber which is all it takes to intimidate her, "To let me know that you're with her, understand?"

Amber meekly nods in response, averting her eyes to her plate.

"Rule number three," He picks up his mug, "You are forbidden from going anywhere near the fucking quarters, or the cells. Reed's aware of that and he's gonna make damn sure everyone else knows." He sets his mug down. "And rule number four; you've got a curfew of four o'clock. If you are so much as a minute late, you won't be leaving this floor until I fucking say when."

I bite my tongue and aside from the sorid looks, remain otherwise unmoved.

"You'll dine with us, on time, you'll be locked in your room at night at the same time every night, and you'll follow the rules, what I say, down to the very last period, or you can't stay and our deal is off," Negan goes on with a sterner tone, "Questions, comments, or concerns?"

I push my eggs around on the plate. "No."

"So, we have an understanding, then?"

"Yes." I flatly answer.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Negan smiles ear to ear, "Welcome home, mama bear."

 **...**

I fold the onesie and put it back into the dresser drawer. I then take out another article of clothing, letting it unfold so I can get a look at it. I've spent most of the morning cleaning the room that my child and I will share. I don't know why I felt the urge to give it good scrub, the room's been kept impeccably tidy, but I just had to clean it myself.

The wives didn't bombard me with questions after Negan had left earlier. I was worried they'd want to know everything, but I am glad that they didn't ask. I'm glad they haven't said anything about my being here either. I guess they of all people could understand why I would want to run, or why I chose to come back under these terms.

I look at the little dress in my hands, thinking for a moment of the little girl whom I was told it belonged to before she disappeared. I never asked Dwight, but I have to believe that she's still alive. I can't imagine he'd stick by them, if they had killed her, or abandoned her to die. I fold the dress and put it back. Most of these clothes are just onesies, which is fitting I guess, but I haven't found any clothes past six months.

There's a light knock on my door, but I don't turn around as whomever it is opens the half-closed door.

"Nan?"

"What?"

"I'm going to the library," Amber squeaks, "Do you wanna go?"

"No, thank you."

"...My mom's there," She informs me, "She was released last night."

I glance over my shoulder. "She's okay?"

"Yeah," Amber replies, "Are you sure you don't want to go?"

I think it over. "Do you have the radio?"

"Yeah, here." She walks further into the room.

"Just tell him we're going to the library."

"He said you had to ask."

I exhale, "Fine," I take the radio from her. I lick my lips, hesitant. "Negan, do you copy?"

We wait in the room for a response. The radio's on channel four, so I hope he's not on two, which is the main channel. I refuse to ask him permission on a channel where everyone in this goddamn place can hear what I've been reduced to.

Finally, the radio statics. "Yeah, I hear you," He answers, "What do you need from me, darlin'?"

I cringe, "Amber's going down to the library and I...would like to go with her."

"You would, huh?" I can hear the humor in his tone.

"Yes."

"And you want me to let you go?"

I glide my tongue across my teeth. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"...Yes, please."

"That's what I like to hear," He laughs through the radio, "Alright, Nanette, you may go."

I hand Amber back the radio and walk past her to the door.

I'm starting to realize why Negan made Amber my designated chaperone. She's easily the most afraid of him and would therefore crack under pressure the easiest, if I ever got her to break the rules for me. Even now, she's uneasy and I just got permission to go.

The library's only three floors down, so I don't have to travel all that far, which I hadn't anticipated to be a good thing until we're about two floors down. I don't want to sound like a feeble pregnant woman, but isn't there a fucking elevator in this factory? The door to the library is open as usual, but something seems off as we approach the room.

Amber slows down a little, peeking in once she's close enough to the entrance. "Mom?"

"Yes?" Lillian answers a moment later.

I notice Amber's shoulders lower as she breathes in relief. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm well," She replies, "Aren't you going to come in?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," Amber looks at me over her shoulder, "I brought Nan with me."

I step forward, entering the library. "Hi, Lillian."

She looks me over, walking from the shelves. "You look so tired, you poor thing." She passes Amber and puts her hand on my forehead.

"I'm -oh" I'm taken back when she puts her arms around me, "I'm okay."

"Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear."

Unsure of what to say to her quoting Jane Eyre, I pat her shoulder. "I...I'm sorry if I worried you."

Amber leans against her mother's desk, obviously bitter that she wasn't received in the same way I was.

"Um," I break away from Lillian's embrace, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"How could I be upset with you?" She touches my face. "You free human being with an independent will?"

I stare at her for a moment. She's not completely lucid. "Well, I...I'm glad you aren't mad."

She smiles with bright eyes. "An independent will which you exerted to leave him."

I soothe her hand in mine as I take it from my face. Wait until she hears that that's no longer the case. That I've gone back to him. "I..." I look over to the bordered up window, "I need to step out for a second."

I slide my hands from hers and step outside, where there's a window they didn't bother to cover. I breathe by the window, barely listening to Amber and Lillian's bland conversation, if you can call it that. I peer out the hole to the front of the factory, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of Dwight down by the fences.

I turn my head from my fruitless search when the corner of my eye spies someone approaching. It's Mark, staring down at the blue and white pills in a little plastic cup in his hand. He stops in his tracks when he lifts his head and spots me by the window.

"Oh," He says, "Uh, hi."

"Hi," I reply, flickering my eyes towards the library, "How is she?"

"Um, she's...better than she was a few days ago," Mark answers, "She's still a little out of it, but she's okay to go back to work."

"Good," I nod my head, "I was worried about her when I..." I look away, "Uh, I was just worried about her health."

"Oh, well, she's fine," He itches the scarred side of his face, "She kept asking about you last night."

"She did?"

"Yeah, sort of. She, uh...kept asking where Jane is and I...assumed she was talking about you, considering there's no one named Jane around here."

"Oh..." I glance out the window.

"I'm sure she knows your name," Marks tells me, half-apologetic, "She just gets weird about stuff like that when she's going through an episode."

"Yeah." I say under my breath.

Mark goes into the library and gives an awkward greeting as he does. I hear a combination of the three talking in the room, once again not really paying attention to the details. Still no signs of Dwight. It makes me want to go down to the cells to make sure he's alright, but I know that it's not an option, especially on my first day being back.

"See ya later." Mark says, drawing my attention.

"Um, yeah, maybe," Amber stammers with a dry throat, "Bye, Mom. I'll come see you a little later, okay?"

"Alright, bye, mouse."

Amber leaves the library with her arms uncomfortably folded across her body and a irked look on her face. "Let's go."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine," She dismissively mumbles, "Let's go back."

"Hang on a sec," I stop her, "I want to go down to the kitchens to see my friend real quick."

"Well, you can't," Amber retorts with a little bit of shortness to her tone, "You aren't allowed in the quarters, remember?"

"The kitchens aren't the quarters," I argue, "She's pregnant and I just-"

"You aren't supposed to talk to any of the workers," She cuts me off, looking at me, "Negan didn't mention it this morning, but he told me so."

I huff, "So, you won't take me down there?"

"No," She says, "Reed doesn't want you down there and Negan forbade you this morning, so you can't go down there and I'm not going to take you."

I scratch at my thumb. "And what if I go down there without you?"

She knits her brows. "Then I'll tell Negan and he'll..." She trails off when her eyes drift towards the library.

I look over to see Mark, leaving, but not ignoring that she's still in the hall.

Amber averts her eyes to the floor. "Let's go."

She turns to head back up and I give Mark a quick glance, before I relent in following her. We walk a small distance from each other and like before, we don't speak. Amber and I were never really all that chummy to begin with, so it's not out of the ordinary. I'm sort of starting to feel bad for trying to get her to go down with me. It wasn't right of me; it's not her problem I can't go down there. Plus, I also feel sorry that her mom apparently was more alleviated to see me than her. I honestly don't know what that's about, considering Lillian's expressed guilt over Amber's marriage to Negan.

By time we get to the second set of stairs, I have to stop in the middle to take a breath. Amber stops, too, though I can tell she'd rather not. I do get a little miffed at her appearance of impatience. If she knew how hard it was to lug around a baby and twenty-five pounds of pressure on her knees in a fucking stairs factory, she'd wipe that bratty look off her face.

After a few seconds, I give an "okay" and we climb the stairs again. I swallow spit down my dry throat, before clearing it. "Your mom seems to be doing well."

"She's still not all there yet."

"Yeah, but it's better than what I saw a few days ago."

"I guess..." Amber shrugs as we walk, "She likes you."

I nod, "I know."

"Must be nice." She grumbles.

I don't reply, thinking about it. It is nice.

"I wish I knew what to say to make her like me as much as she likes you."

I look up at the back of her flaxen haired head. "I wish I knew what I said, or did, too."

"Whatever."

I stroll behind her, glancing at the doors we pass. "It's good that Mark is there to watch after her. Make sure she's taking the medicine for her lung problems."

"I don't want to talk about Mark." Amber plainly tells me.

I scratch an itch by my nose ring. "He cares for you."

"No, he doesn't," She denies, "He hates me for what happened."

"It didn't seem that way to me."

"He was just bringing my mom her meds."

I graze the wall with my fingertips, looking out the windows. "If he hated you, he wouldn't take care of Lillian."

"He does that because he likes Lillian," Amber explains dryly, "It doesn't mean he doesn't resent me."

"He seemed pretty okay about you back there in the library."

"...Yeah, well, it doesn't matter; I'm married to Negan."

I bite my lip, "For Lillian."

"Yeah."

"You know, she knows that," I tell her, "And she blames herself for it and for what happened to Mark."

Amber huffs, "Why would she blame herself?" She opens the door to the last stairwell, "It was Mark and I's fault."

"She said she shouldn't have let you two use the library to...met up and she blames herself for it, because if you hadn't married Negan so that she could have medicine, then you and Mark would still get to be together."

She pauses in the middle landing, and then turns to face me. Her big eyes look glassy with tears. "Really?"

"Yes," I nod my head, "She told me so."

Amber looks down, nodding, before she meets my eyes. "Thanks."

"Sure."

"I'm...I'm sorry you have to have me follow you."

I close my lips and nod again. So am I.

 **...**

I lay on bed, reading One Hundred Years of Solitude with the door open. Both Hazel and Danica have come by a few times throughout the day, asking me if I needed anything, as if I'm on bed rest and couldn't get it myself.

Around two, Negan sent up Harlan to do a quick physical to make sure I didn't harm his prized possession yet to be born. At first, I was afraid that Harlan might be angry with me for not offering to take him, like he had me months ago. I practiced how I was gonna explain to him why I didn't bring anyone with me, but when he came to my room, he asked me how I was and proceeded with the exam like nothing happened.

He told me that everything appears to be fine on the outside and I report to him that aside from the occasionally painful cramps brought on by stress, everything was okay. Harlan informed me that the first of November is tomorrow, so my guesstimated due date is close. I thank him for the reminder, though I think it's safe to say that I haven't forgotten.

The past three days, Negan's been speaking to me routinely. Every morning, he unlocks the door at five-ten in the morning, says a tickled good morning, reminds me that I'm X amount of days away from being forty weeks, and then leaves me alone until breakfast. At breakfast, he usually is fairly content with himself and only says something to me just to be an asshole.

He doesn't really show his face again until dinner, because of all the preparation for his master plan to take down Rick and his people in just a few short days. After dinner, he either relaxes in the drawing room, which means bothering one of the girls for something, or goes to his room to be alone. At seven forty-five, he tells me to get washed up for bed, so I can be locked inside at eight. I've remained silent for most of our encounters, only giving short, emotionless answers when he requires me to speak.

It's been rather bleak, but I bear it and suffer on the inside as much I can. I've felt rather dull and crestfallen since I came back, but I suppose that's my fault. I chose to do something reckless and run off, knowing I'd have to come back and that I'd have to come back to him. But, even if I had agreed to live up here again without the drastic measures, I still would feel this hopeless. For me and for my baby.

I still haven't seen any signs of Dwight and it's really paining me. I've even gotten Amber to go with me to a low enough roof to see if I can see him outside. She told Negan that we were going to the library and, despite her uneasiness, it technically wasn't a lie.

Part of me reasons that if Dwight were dead, Negan would make it public, but another part of me feels like he might have killed him and kept it quiet so as not to put stress on me and send me into labor. I keep telling myself; _he's not dead, he's not dead, he's not dead_ , but my tendencies to overthink have me. Negan did say he had "plans" for him, but I don't know...

Maybe I'm just sick with grief. He told me he loved me and I love him back. I don't know when I started to feel so strongly for him. It could've been while I was married to Negan and my thoughts kept wandering to him, or when he was gone for all those months and I thought I had lost him. Or, maybe somewhere in between, all I know is that it must have come easy, because I can't remember a time where I struggled with it.

After Charlie, I was certain I'd never love anyone again, nor did I want to. But when I saw him and he saw me, and we put our arms around each other, I could feel an "I love you" in the huff of breath that escaped my mouth when we embraced. There was no thought, or consideration behind it; it just was and I knew that it was true.

I didn't even have a hard time coming to terms with it. I love Dwight, no doubt in my mind, and I am perfectly okay with that. I feel no sense of betrayal, or guilt in loving him, like I thought I might. My love is earnest and steadfast; I want no one else but him. Every fiber of my being wants to hold his hands in mine and kiss them. I want to hold him to my breast and comfort his aches and sorrows.

I sigh, heartbroken that I can't do any of that. I think it must of come from the likeness we share. Both subtle and mild mannered, for the most part. The quietude we can share without feeling the need to talk. Or maybe it's his own gentle nature that allures me. Like the way he moves with ease and purpose, or the way he speaks plainly to me. The way he does for me without giving it a second thought.

It tears me apart inside that I won't feel his arms around me again, or that our lips won't touch. That he won't get to hold the baby when she's born.

The door to the stairwell opens and the cart that vehicles dinner clunks as the two workers get it up on the floor from the stairs. How they manage to get it all the way up here without making a total mess is beyond me. I sit up, moving the book from my face when I see Marisol pass by with the cart.

I get up from the bed and tread carefully down the hall. I quietly go to the opening of the dining room, peering in on them setting the everything up for dinner. Marisol isn't too far behind me in terms of pregnancy. Hell, she looks like she's further along than I am.

She spots me spying from over on the other of the table as she sets some bread down. Her eyes look surprised to see me.

"Uh, hey." I croak, which gets the other worker's attention.

"Hey," She says back, "...You're okay."

"Yeah," I nod my head, "I'm okay...How are you? How's everything down on the floor?"

"I'm fine," Marisol tells me, "And aside from Negan docking two days pay from everyone, everything's alright."

My brows furrow, confused, as she continues to set the table. "Wait, you said he docked your points?"

"Yeah, he also closed the commissary for the rest of the week."

"That wasn't part of the deal." I say under my breath.

"What deal?"

I look up at her and the other worker, who's just as curious. "Um...nothing, it's not important."

Marisol's eyes search my face. "Did you..." She glances around the room, "For us?"

My eyes fall to the table. "Everything looks delicious."

She follows my gaze. "Oh...thanks."

"Negan will be back soon," I tell them, "If you're done, you better get going."

"Yeah," She nods and the other worker wheels the cart out of the room as they go to exit, "Hey."

I look from the hand on my arm to her. "Yes?"

"Why did you do this?"

My dry lips stay parted, unsure of how to answer. "I..." I lick my lips, "I was angry about everything. About the inflations, about Dwight, about...everything he's done, or allows to happen and I just couldn't keep quiet about it anymore."

She nods, "Did he make you be his wife again?"

"No," I shake my forlorn head, "I agreed to come back."

"Why?"

I meet her eyes. "It was the only way."

"Only way?"

"Mar, let's go." The other worker calls.

She turns for a moment. "Yeah, okay," She then looks back at me, "What do you mean it was the only way?"

I shrug. "It was the only way to make sure that only one person had to get hurt."

Marisol knits her brows, opening her mouth to speak.

She's cut short, when the door to the stairwells opens and Negan strolls through, whistling.

"Go." I rasp, walking off to go back to my bedroom.

"Smells good," Negan says, "Hopefully, that means a job well done."

I roll my eyes, shutting my door a ways. I sit on the chair by the vanity, picking up the comb on the table. I take my hair down from it's bun and stair to comb. The creaking of the door opening makes my eyes close when I see from the mirror that it's him.

"How was your day, dear?"

I look at him from the mirror, before I go back to combing.

Negan chuckles, "Did you go anywhere?"

"No."

"Good, because I didn't hear any word from you or Amber about going someplace, so I sure as fuck hope you stayed put."

I set down the comb and then tie my hair back into a bun, disinterested.

"Dinner is served," He informs me, "So, you better haul ass to the table, before the ladies take most of the stew and leave you with just the broth. There's no midnight snacks coming your way, if you miss out"

I push back the chair and head for the door.

Negan moves an inch, standing in my way. I don't look at him as he inspects me. However, when he goes to move a stand of hair from my face, I move my head.

"Don't."

 **...**

Dinner was delicious. That was some of the best stew I've had in awhile. I felt the warm broth slide down my throat and into my stomach. The bread was amazing, too.

After we eat, we go to the drawing room before bed. I would just go back to my room, if I didn't know that I'd be forced to go there in an hour to be locked in for bed. Negan's in the shower, which is a relief to the room. Hazel and Danica play cards, while Amber just sits there on the sofa and drinks wine, staring up at the ceiling.

I've started another embroidery project with some supplies borrowed from Frankie's stuff. I wonder when she and Tonya will return. I worry that they may get hurt where they are and if they do, I'll never forgive Negan. I'll add it to the list.

I'm sure she won't mind that I did borrow some thread. I'm making something for the nursery, or to hang on the wall above the crib. I probably won't have it finished before the baby gets here, but I'll have something to do while it's sleeping, aside from sleeping myself.

That's all I want to do now, sleep. I've been perpetually tired since I entered my third trimester, but this past week has really drained me inside and out. But, I don't sleep all day because if I do, I keep having the same dream. The one where I'm shoved into the grave. The sound of me hitting the bottom, coupled with the crying from that bundle gets me every time.

"Want some tea, Nan?"

"Hm?" I look up from my work and thoughts.

"We're heating water on the hot plate for some tea," Hazel tells me, "Do you want a cup?"

"Oh, uh, no. Thanks, though."

"Sure."

I glance back down to my hoop. "I would like some water, though."

"Okay."

"Oh, I didn't mean you had to get it for me," I say, putting my stuff down, "I can get it."

"No, sit," Hazel goes over to the bar, where a pitcher of water sits atop, "I'm closer and your ankles are swollen."

"Not anymore."

"Well, here anyways." She walks me over some water.

"Thanks."

"Anything else?"

"No, thanks."

"Did you eat those cucumber slices I brought you earlier?" Danica asks.

"Yes, thank you."

Apparently, Dani thought cucumber slices would help reduce my ankle swelling, but it really wasn't that bad and had flushed out before then, but I still ate the cucumbers. I also ate the celery she brought me the day before.

"I wonder when someone from the bullet factory will come back," Hazel sighs as she sit back down, "I wrote to Frankie and Tonya ages ago and haven't gotten any word back."

"They probably won't come back until everything's done." Danica replies.

"Well, they need to be done already, then," Hazel scoffs, "They've been there forever with that weirdo that Frankie and Tonya don't even like."

"Yeah, what's his name again?"

"Eugene," Amber answers.

"Yeah."

"Remember how scared he was when he first got here?"

"Oh, yeah, and Negan sent the three of them down to spend time with him!" Hazel cackles, "Remember when he tried to send you, Tonya, and I down to Harlan, but Harlan turned him down?"

"Yes," Danica scoffs, "Thank god, for that, because I really didn't want to go."

I puzzle my brows. "I don't remember that." Do I?

"Oh yeah, " Dani rolls her eyes, "He wanted us to have dinner with him and do all but fuck him to make him feel welcome."

"I...I wasn't asked."

"No," Hazel shrugs, "You were newer, so maybe Negan wasn't willing to share the goods yet. No offense."

I nod my head, looking back down.

"Although, I think I would've much rather have hung with Harlan than that arrogant asshole with the mullet."

At that, the two girls laugh. Even Amber lets out a tipsy little giggle. The corners of my mouth tip up a little, focusing down at my project.

The door to the bathroom opens and like that, all air is sucked out of the room. The girls grow quiet; Hazel clears her throat as she puts a card down. What morsel of a smile I had, the first in days has vanished from my face as Negan enters the room, strolling over to the bar.

"What's all the laughter about?" He nonchalantly inquires, slicking his wet hair back.

"Nothing." Danica answers him.

"Must have been a funny ass nothing," Negan pours himself a drink, "Whatcha got over there, mother?"

I don't respond, except to keep at my embroidery.

Negan chuckles under his breath, before coming over. I want to crawl out of my skin when he sits down next to me on the sofa. "Don't you know by now that I expect people to fuckin' speak when they're spoken to?"

I pull the thread through the bottom of the canvas, aloof.

Negan's finger taps on the glass he holds. "How long you gonna keep up this petty ass silence?"

I give a light shrug of my shoulder.

"That's very fucking mature of you."

"You said we didn't have to speak." I barely say.

"...Yeah, but I didn't actually fuckin' mean it," He scoffs, "I mean, who the fuck would?"

"So, did you not mean what you said about not going to bed with you again, either, or do you expect me to not be so petty and just let you fuck me?"

Negan grimaces at me. "You're skating on thin fucking ice, Nan, I wouldn't press down on your luck, if I were you."

I pull the needle through the bottom part of the canvas, unresponsive to his sharp words.

He exhales, pissed off, but not willing to call it quits and leave me alone. "I don't expect you do anything you don't want to do...in that aspect, anyway."

I nod very slightly.

He moves his finger against the glass again, as if searching for something more to say. I wish he wouldn't. "First of November's tomorrow."

"Mhm."

"Two more weeks to go."

I nod again.

"It's hard to believe, ain't it?" Negan sits up. "That in two weeks from now, we're gonna be parents to this little future badass." He puts a hand on my belly, but it jolts me up and out of the my seat.

"Don't touch me!"

I storm out of the drawing room and across the short hall to my bedroom, involuntarily slamming the door behind me. I run my hand through my hair, a little jarred. My body feels like it might tremble with anger. Like that little gesture triggered everything I've kept dormant in me for the last few days.

The door opens and then slams closed. "What the fuck is your problem?"

Is he really asking me that? As if he doesn't already know. I rub the back of my neck, trying to quell myself. "I don't want you to touch me."

I see Negan rolls his eyes from his reflection in the mirror. "Would you fucking relax? I was-"

"I don't care," I cut him off, "I don't care what you were doing, I don't want you to touch me. I don't want you to speak to me."

I walk over to the chair by the vanity, feeling suddenly out of breath. I put my hands on the back of the chair, breathing through a cramp, as well as this beast sitting on my chest.

"You alright?" Negan asks me from where he stands.

I scoff, choppily as a bitter chuckle escapes me. "Am I alright?" I look up in the mirror, meeting his eyes. "What the fuck do you think?"

He scowls back at me, which only makes me huff incredulously.

"No, Negan, I am not alright," I close my eyes at the slight stab, "I am not okay!" I raise my voice. "And I never fucking will be and do you know why? Because I am trapped; I am trapped here in this godforsaken factory, in the goddamned room, on this miserable fucking floor with you!"

"You had a fucking choice," He growls, still composed, externally, "And you fucking chose to come back, after you incited insubordination and than ran off to your little beach."

"And I don't fucking regret it!" I shout, turning towards him with fury. "I don't regret it, I'd do it all over again. The mustard, the note, the commissary, everything!" I point at him. "Because someone has to fucking make you see what you are. All the horrible things you do to people."

"I'm a Savior," Negan retorts, bluntly, "I save people. People like you, who are too fucking weak, or stupid to make it on their own."

"You're a fucking crook!" I dispute, "You're a quick-thinking, smooth-talking snake oil salesman, who's bought his own lie and is too goddamn narcissistic to see it. That, or it's like I said before; you don't fucking care about other people, so long as you can keep a leg up over everyone else."

"I'm the fucking backbone of this world and if I wasn't, then everything would fall to shit and people would die."

"People are already dying!" I yell at him. "The dying never stopped, you just found ways to justify it. To justify you killing people with that god awful bat."

"Don't fucking talk about Lucille like that!" He booms, putting up a warning finger. "She's-"

"She's a bat!" I bark, furious. "She's a fucking baseball bat that you use to cave in people's head with to 'teach a lesson'!" My chest heaves with unrefined anger. "I don't know what you're fucking deal is with that bat, but it's just a fucking bat. That's it. Nobody cares about it, except you."

Negan's expression subsides a little, though his brows are still gathered and his eyes still stare at me like I'm stark raving mad.

A chuckle heaves out with my breath, almost like a whimper. "My god, the only thing you care about more than yourself is a wooden bat."

He doesn't reply, which is a first.

I put my hand over my forehead. "You might think I'm weak, but at least I never let the world make me cold and unfeeling like you," I look him in the eye, "That's why I'm here."

Negan furrows his brows at me, perplexed and sore.

I try to get a hold of my breathing. "That's why I had to force myself to come back," I fight back tears with a long, aching pause in my throat, "That's why I did what I did."

"You did what you did, because-"

"No!" I point my finger at him again. "You will listen to me! You will shut the fuck up and listen to me, I will be heard goddamnit!"

Negan scoffs with a disgruntled grin, before attempting to speak. "Nan, you might be my wife, but-"

"I am not your wife!" I roar over him. "I am not your wife. I am not your partner, or your...little play thing." I walk the other way, fuming. "I can't even be your friend, which the only best you could hope for in this situation. I'm insignificant in your eyes and so there's never going to be common ground between us. You've taken all of me; you've pushed, and pulled, and tore every ligament in me that you could and you have reduced me down to nothing. "

"I-"

"You humiliate me!" I growl, "You know I don't want to be here, that I don't want to be with you and yet you still let me come back." I glance down at the crib. "You knew the deal and you sat in the car, thinking about it, how shameful it was, and you still went through with it."

"It was your deal," Negan says, angry, "Not mine, I just fuckin' agreed to it."

"Yes, because you're cruel," I retort, touching the wood, "Because you're a selfish, cruel man who wanted more than he could have."

"I wanted-"

"Well, you have me where you want me," I turn my body to face him, "But you can't have me."

His eyes scan mine. "You're backing out of the deal?"

"No," I shake my head solemnly, "I'll stay, but you can't have me. Not anymore; I'm not yours."

Negan huffs, "Whose are you then? Dwight's?"

"No," I put my hand to my chest, "I'm my own. I belong to me and no one else." I move my hand to my pregnancy. "But I'll stay here and raise the baby, while you...kill off an entire group of people like they're sick cattle. That's why I came back; to make sure my child is loved like a human being and not fawned over like another possession."

I tread to the bed, exhausted as my adrenaline goes out like the tide. "You can't love, so I have to see to it that my child never goes a day without knowing that they're loved and that they don't have to earn love like points."

Negan hasn't moved an inch from where he stands. "You think I-"

"I think a lot of things about you, Negan," I put my hair up with trembling hands, "But the one thing that keeps coming back to me is that every time you open your hand and I reach out, I get burned, and that maybe that's all I need to know about you. You mar people, even people who believe that they're safe from being marred by you."

I go to peel off my flannel, but I stop dead in my tracks at the harsh stab between my legs. I nearly double over, gripping the bed frame, gasping with my mouth closed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I breathe.

Negan finally steps forward. "Is it a cramp?"

"Don't touch me," I pull my arm away from his hand, "You don't get to be concerned about me; you're the reason I'm so wound tight. You stress me out" I take off the flannel shirt, feeling the pain start to dwindle. "You can go."

"You-"

"I said it was nothing," I look back to him, "Now get out and leave me alone; aside from this baby, we are nothing to do with one another."

Negan eyes grow dark with anger. "Fine," He marches to the door, opening it, "You can fuckin' stay locked in here, until you rot for all I fucking care."

The wall shakes with how hard the door shuts. The lock sounds extra confining. I inhale and exhale through the rest of the cramps as I undress for bed. Once I'm redressed in my sleeping shorts and museum t-shirt, I lay down on my side under the cover. My eyes grow heavy and flutter close little by little as the pain goes away.

 **...**

 _He suddenly grabs my hand. "I didn't want it to have to be this way."_

 _The bundle produces a crying sound and I look desperately at the man._

 _The man looks back with stern eyes and a glint of a smile. Then, without warning, he shoves me back and I have no ground beneath my feet. My back hits the dirt hard, taking the breath out of me._

I awake with a gasp, as if I actually did hit the bottom of the grave. All of me feels drenched, despite it not really being hot in here. The air in the room cools the sweat from the dream that beads out of my pores. The sound of Negan and whomever he's taking his frustrations out on must have woke me up. I would bang against the wall, but I think it'd only make things worse. I guess his little dry spell is over.

I furrow my brows as I move my leg in bed. Speaking of dry spells being over, I think I might have wet the bed. I lift up the covers to take a look in the dark, hoping that my other nightmare hasn't come true. After all I said, Negan would just let me sleep in it.

I feel the wetness between my legs and bring my hand up to my 's...not urine. It's warm, but it's not pee. Confused, I look back down at the pool in my sheets. I look at the alarm on the nightstand; it's midnight. The first of November. My head returns to the wet places on the bed. _Oh my god._

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **CLTex: She's not done with Laura and she certainly isn't done with Negan. But yeah, she had to find someway to live with Negan, so that she could be with the baby.**

 **WritersBlock2018: I know, I wanted her to just say "fuck it" and not go back, too. However, I don't think she'd be able to live with not knowing how Dwight is, or with the workers being punished because of her.**

 **Miss Luny: Lol, well, I hope this chapter just added to the suspense! I'm both nervous and excited!**

 **Guest: I really hope Dwight's doing alright in the cell, too. Nan's got a lot of weigh on her shoulders, but at least she has some mild distractions. All he's got to do is sit and think all day.**

 **PruRose: Negan didn't make her choose between her and the worker's being punished. It was Nan's proposition. And her choice was reckless and stupid, but I think that she grappled with wanting to be with her child and valuing what little autonomy she has under Negan's control. It's a lot to sacrifice yourself for someone(s) and so I think she rationalized trading her "freedom" for the safety of the workers, so she could hold her head up when she went back to him. I know, she's the one who put them in danger, but they don't see it that way; right not it seems the workers see it as someone finally sticking up for them, while also being willing to put herself on the line for them.**

 **StTudnoBright: Oh, for sure Negan's pride is wounded. All his attempts to go on like normal aside, it has to chap his ass to know that she did what she did so that she "could be with her child under circumstances that she could live with" and it opposes him, because of him. I quoted you, because I think how you described it is best put.**


	60. Deliver

The door flies to its mate, creating a loud, thunderous rumble that violently shakes the two on their hinges. He skulks into the room, pulling down the art on the wall that went lopsided from the slamming of the door and throwing it across the room, breaking it against the other wall. He smooths his hand down his mouth, putting the other on his side as the words she said sink their teeth in.

The leader scoffs. Where the fuck does that bitch get off calling him a fucking crook? Bad mouthing Lucille? After everything he's fucking done for these people? His people. After everything he's fucking done for her and their baby?

He chuckles acridly as he begins to pace. Made sure her fat ass was fed and provided for, while others have to scrape by and ration. Letting her come back, even after she tried to stir shit up with the workers, because things are "unfair". The system fucking works, she doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about.

If it weren't for him, they'd all be living like fucking dogs, fighting and killing each other over table scraps. Women living in fear of being assaulted every time the lights go out. Things are a hell of a lot better. Sure shit isn't easy for everyone, but that's just called fucking life.

She's had it fucking good for a long ass time. Anything she's wanted or needed, he's gave it to her, within reason. Food, vitamins, a shoulder to fucking cry on when her half-melted boyfriend was off plotting with the Piss Patrol. She didn't even fucking ask for the nursery, or the shit he had sent to her and yet he still fucking delivered. He compromised for her. And then she just throws it all in his fucking face over a simple fucking touch of her belly?

The leader turns to stroll to the other side of the room, still fuming. Well, she's not getting any more friendly gestures thrown her way, that's for goddamn sure. If that ungrateful little cunt wants a cruel fucking dick for a husband, he'll give her one. Fucking accusing him of being a bad parent, when she's the one who took off to some fucking museum after the doctor told her she's at risk for early labor. She can go fuck herself. Shit, she'll have to, because she's the only one getting between her legs again.

He stops in his tracks, tapping his finger on his hip in agitation. He looks towards the doors. After a moment's contemplation, he runs his hand down his mouth again. "Yep."

He strides over, opening the door with just as much force as when he shut it, and stalks out to the drawing room. His other wives look up from whatever the fuck they're doing, lost as to what the fuck's gone between him and that bitch that's locked in her room.

He goes over to the bar and pours himself another scotch, throwing it back, before fixing another. After taking a sip of the second, he turns, looking at the three heads turned his way.

The leader glances over them. Fucking hell, Blondie's already half-wasted. Not that he was gonna pick her anyway, he'd rather jerk off with the bitch end of Lucille.

His eyes move to the other two. He motions for the one on the left side of the loveseat to stand up. "Come on."

The wife with long black hair gets up, a little surprised as she smoothes her dress out. She follows behind him out of the drawing room.

"Hurry it up."

Her heels clack against the floor as she moves past him. The leader shuts the door as soon as she's in.

"Lose the clothes."

The wife unclasps the top button on the back of her dress, before reaching down and bringing it up over her head. She kicks off her heels and begins to take off her lingerie. The leader's eyes look her over, cool and impatient. When she's _finally_ naked, she turns to face him with her hands clasped together.

The leader looks up at her. "Well, what are you fucking standing there for? Get on the bed."

She nods, walking over to the bed and laying down on it. The leader starts to undo his belt as he makes his way over. He nudges her legs apart, making her inhale. She holds her hands together close to her chest, partially covering her breasts.

The leader gives her and her body another glance over as he unbuttons his pants and pulls down his zipper. He then reaches under her legs and rudely brings her forward by the back of the knees. She inhales again, then exhales under her breath.

He looks down at her, knitting his brows. The wife picks up her gaze, as if to ask why he hasn't done it yet. Her eyes are all doe-like as she lies there in what looks like nervous anticipation.

"What's wrong?" She asks him, after he just stares down at her for longer than he ever has during sex. Or ever, for that fucking matter.

The leader blinks, before he turns his head to the side. He takes a ragged breath. "Nothing."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, just...just get up and go to the couch."

She waits for him to move from between her legs and then helps herself up to pad barefoot over to the leather sofa.

"Hustle." He says rather impatiently, already there.

The wife stifles an eye roll, growing somewhat irked. But she goes to the backside of the sofa, turning away from him.

The leader who found himself annoyed from the get go, does roll his eyes, before he steps up to her from behind and puts his hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to bend over. It's fucking irritating; it shouldn't be, but his ass is chapped, thinking that maybe _she_ wouldn't have needed to be told to bend over. She would've just done it, like she had all those other times.

He glides his tongue along his teeth, sticking it in his cheek when he's reached the end. What the fuck's he doing this for? He's hard, but he's more angry than in the mood. His wife looks over her shoulder, still unsure of why the hell she's here. Fuck it. The leader steps forward, pulling his cock out of his undone pants and easing it into her.

Fuck, that's it. He closes his eyes as he slowly exhales. She's so goddamn warm and slick. She had let out a slight, closed mouth moan that made it feel all the more better. He begins to thrust in and out of her, hard and fast.

After he's finished all over the back of her, he throws a towel at her. It was frankly a little disappointing. He went it at like a sailor on leave and there's a lot she's gotta clean off herself, but he's too fucking occupied to be proud.

"Can I go, or do you want me to stay?" The wife asks; glad that it's over and hoping that he'll cut her lose.

"No, get out," He curtly answers, pulling his shirt over his head, "But tell Dani not to hit the sack just yet."

She nods, indifferent. "And should I let her know to tell Amber that?"

He scoffs, "No, that fuckin' lush can go to bed."

"Okay," The wife picks up her clothes from off the floor, "Have a good-"

"Just get out."

She huffs below her breath. "Asshole."

The door closes behind her, which leaves him alone in his room. He sits down on the edge of his bed, running his hands up through his hair and then down to his mouth. The leader looks towards his bedside table. It's tempting to open it, but he won't. Not if he's planning on having another wife come in later.

 **...**

 _Oh my god._ I get out of bed, keeping my eyes on the wet spot that I can make out in the dark on my bed. I touch the underside of my pregnant belly. This isn't happening, I'm just dreaming. I'm only thirty-eight weeks as of two minutes ago.

I walk over to the light switch by the door and flick on the lights, returning to my bed to better inspect the scene. The imperfect circle on my sheets isn't yellow, so I can't go back to my original thought of just wetting the bed.

Damn, that means I'm going into labor, or going to be anyway. I don't feel any pain or anything, but I know I have to get out of this room. Harlan had mentioned one time when I went to collect the medical logs, that if my water broke; I needed to come see him, even if my contractions don't start right away. Something about being open to infection.

I look over at the wall that the crib sits against. The sound of Negan's bed rocking, the headboard hitting the wall it rests in front of is still very much happening. A few groans and moans can be heard as well.

I exhale, relenting to pad over to the other side of the room. Once I'm face to face with the wall, I find myself hesitant to knock. I listen for a minute, regrowing the fury I have at him as I hear his voice. He didn't listen to a word I said, but why would I expect him to?

After a minute, I bring my fist up to the wall and pound on it. "Hey!"

The rocking doesn't seem like it's slowed down.

"Hey!" I call a little louder, banging harder.

I sigh when it's clear that either they can't hear me, or Negan's just ignoring me. I guess I picked a banner time to erupt and give him a piece of my mind, but I couldn't help it. Plus, who could've predicted that I'd be going into labor right now?

I turn around, deciding to try my luck at waking up whomever's not with him. I knock incessantly on my door, verbally calling for attention.

"Hey! Anyone?" I yell as loud as I can. "I need help!"

I curse under my breath after about ten minutes of work for nothing. I begin to pace, shaking out my sore hand. What if I have to wait until Negan's done with whoever he's got in there to flag someone down?

"Fuck."

What if he has them stay the night? Then what am I supposed to do? He could ignore me until morning and by then; I could be in serious pain.

It isn't until an hour later, that I hear a door open down the hall. Footsteps creak against the floor. I rise from my bed and go back to the door, knocking again.

"Hey!" I shout, "Amber? Hazel? Danica? I need help!"

A moment later I get a response. "Nan?" Hazel says with a groggy voice. "What are you doing?"

"I need you to unlock door," I tell her, "Please, I need help."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"My water broke!"

"...What?"

"I said my water broke!" I repeat, a little irritably. "Look, I need you to unlock the door for me."

"I-I can't," Hazel replies, "Negan's the only one who has the keys."

Of course he is. "Well, I need the doctor."

"Okay, I'll, uh...I'll go get Negan."

"No!" I stop her. "Just go get Harlan."

"But-"

"I just need him to know that my water's broke," I cut her off, "He'll come up, if he needs to."

"O-okay," Hazel says, "I'll be right back."

"Okay." I start to pace again, anxious.

It's starting to settle in that I'm having this baby soon; that in a few hours I'm actually going to be giving birth. It's nerve-racking. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid. I am early, so I'm worried that that could mean I might have to have a c-section. Harlan didn't say if he had performed a c-section since the change, so there's no telling what that'll mean for me and my baby. Either one of us could be in danger, or both.

I breathe, trying to calm the internal disquietude. _It's going to be alright._

The double doors of Negan's bedroom quake as one opens. "The fuck's going on?"

Shit, he must have heard Hazel leave.

"U-um..."

"Spit it out," Negan says, "Where'd Hazel go?"

"S-she left." Amber squeaks out.

"Where to?"

"To get the doctor," Amber nervously answers, "Um, because Nan asked her to."

He doesn't respond, except suddenly his footsteps stride down the hall and I can see his shadow at the bottom of the door. "Fuck," He says under his breath, "Go get my keys on the dresser. Chop, chop!"

I stare where stand, listening.

"Nan?" He inquires on the outside. "What's Haze gettin' the doctor for?"

I don't answer, stubbornly angry with him.

"This better not be another one of your fucking stunts."

"Here." Danica says and not long after, I hear the key being shoved into the lock.

The door opens and Negan walks in in just his boxer briefs. His eyes look me over. "Why's she getting Harlan for you?"

My scowling eyes move to the bed. "My water broke."

Negan follows my gaze, seeing the still wet stain on the bed, before he looks back at me. "Are you fucking with me?"

"No, I'm not."

"You're going into labor?"

Before I can answer, the door to the top floor opens abruptly and two sets of feet come down the hall. Harlan pushes the door open, wearing what he sleeps in. He moves past Negan, unaware that his leader is standing in his underwear.

"When did your water break?" He asks me immediately.

"Um, I think an hour ago," I tell him, "It woke me up."

Harlan nods with his hands on his hips. "Any contractions?"

"I don't think so, but you said-"

"I know what I said," He shifts, looking back at the bed, "How soon can you get down to the infirmary?"

"How soon do you want me there?"

"As soon as possible," Harlan turns towards me, "I want to keep an eye on you. See if I'm gonna have to try to move the baby, if it's not dropped into position yet, or what our options are."

I feel a drop in my stomach, uneasy, but I nod my head. "Okay."

"If you'd like to, you can shower real quick, while I go prep everything downstairs."

I nod, offering a meek smile. "Thanks."

"Okay." Harlan goes to leave, taking notice of Negan finally as he walks out of my room.

I take a breath, before nodding again and shifting into gear. I go over to the baby's dresser, where I've got some of my clothes in the bottom drawer, since her clothes only take up the top two out of five.

I get a pair of lounge pants that are actually Frankie's, but that Danica said I could borrow, since none of them really wear those kind of things anyway. I also grab a shirt and one of Dwight's flannels because it's cold. I take the pair of socks that the girls had given me long ago, before Dwight had disappeared, but I'm not going to bother with my shoes.

As I hold my stuff, I can't help but think I'm forgetting something. I look up and see Negan still standing there by the door. I don't really have anything to say to him, so I just carry my clothes towards the door.

"You were banging on the wall to tell me?"

I pause just past him. "Yes," I rasp, looking over, "I thought maybe you didn't hear me, but I guess I know different now, don't I?"

I don't give him the chance to reply, before I go to take a shower.

 **...**

I run a comb through my wet hair, dressed and warm. I only showered for about five minutes or so, too frazzled to be in there in the first place. I feel absolutely out of my mind. The anticipation is killing me. I don't know what I'm more anxious about, waiting for my first contraction, or wondering how badly it'll hurt. And whether or not, I'll be able to do this without a c-section.

I set down the comb on the sink as I hear the door open on the left.

"You ready to go?"

I sigh through my nose, walking over in my socks to the tub, so I can gather my wet shorts and shirt. "Mhm."

"Just leave 'em; I'll have one of the girls put them in the hamper."

"It's right there," I motion with my eyes to the basket hamper that we stick our laundry in, "I think I can manage that."

Negan, dressed, leans his shoulder in the doorway. "Listen, Nan, about last night...and just now. I think we-"

"I'm still angry," I make clear to him, meeting his eyes, "I'm not apologizing and I don't need for you to explain why you ignored me, because I honestly don't care." I tersely brush past him as I exit the bathroom. "Sorry, if you mistreating your wives was all for not."

Danica, Hazel, and Amber stand by their bedrooms, a little unsure of what they should do as I come down to the door. I hear Negan's footsteps behind me, but I'd rather not.

"Do you want us to come with you?"

"It's okay," I say, even though it's not, "I'll be okay on my own."

"Are you sure?" Danica asks me. "I could just walk with you to the infirmary and then leave, if you'd like?"

"If you want to." I reply nonchalantly.

"Okay." She goes to the door and opens it for me.

"Thanks," I start down the stairs, "Could you do me a favor after we get there?"

"Of course," Dani's right behind me, "What do you need?"

"Could you go down to the second floor and find a guy named Hal?" I ask of her. "His room is around the corner from where Dwight's was."

"Yeah, you want me to send him your way?"

"Yes, please." I look up the stairwell, finding only Danica behind me. I hesitate for a moment.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." I turn and pass through the doorway to the hall.

I'm starting to feel a little overexerted and I haven't even made it to the second set of stairs, which I'm going down, so it should be easy. It's probably all the stress and anxiety of being this close to the finish line.

Halfway to the infirmary, it dawns on me, that maybe I should've brought some clothes for the baby. Or at the very least, a blanket. It's cold throughout this factory, despite the fact that I'm sweating more bullets than Eugene could ever hope to make in his lifetime.

"Hey, Danica," I look over at her, "Could you do me one more favor?"

"Sure, anything."

"Could you run back to the nursery and get a blanket or two? Maybe a onesie, or something, too?"

"You want me to go right now?"

"Yeah," I nod, "I can go the rest of the way by myself."

"Alright." She heads back the other way.

Really, I don't think it needed to be done right this moment, considering we live in the same building as the infirmary, but it'll sit on my mind, until it's done.

"AH!" I cry out at the sharp spike of pain, stopping and putting my hand out on the wall.

"Nan?" Danica's suddenly back at my side. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I wince, "I think I just had a contraction."

I wait for the pain to dull away. I'm pretty sure that was a contraction. It was just as painful, if not a little more than the cramps I've had throughout my pregnancy.

"I'm walking with you to the infirmary," Danica adamantly says, "The other stuff can wait, Nan."

I breathe, trying to quell the pain. "Okay."

Danica rubs my back, taking my hand. "Let's take it a little slow."

We go the rest of the way with less hurry. The only light on the fourth floor is coming from the infirmary. The door is cracked open and I can hear Harlan move around inside.

Danica pushes the door open for me, getting Harlan's attention. "Is everything okay?" He inquires.

"She had a contraction." Danica informs him.

"Alright," Harlan nods, "We'll time the spacing between them." He hands me something off the edge of the hospital bed. "Here, I found this in inventory and saved it."

I take the folded white garb that's got little blue polka dots all over it. I recognize it instantly to be a hospital gown. "Thanks."

"You don't have to change into it now, if you don't want," The doctor itches his brow, "I've got the bed all made up for you, too. I figured it might be awhile, until you're ready to start pushing, so you might want to get some rest now, while you can."

"Thank you," I set the gown down, before looking at Danica, "You can go back to bed, if you want."

"I'll stay, just in case you need anything."

"I'm gonna be here for hours," I smile, tired, "Go get some sleep, I'll be fine."

"Nan, I-"

"Harlan will be here," I remind her, "It's okay, Dani."

She looks over at the doctor, at a loss. I know she wants to stay, but I can see she's also exhausted. "Um...okay," She sighs, giving in, "But only for an hour, then I'll be back and...The girls and I will take turns sitting down here with you, okay?"

"Okay, sounds good."

"Okay..." Danica gives me a final glance as she backs away, turning for the door.

When she's out of sight, I pick up the gown again and go to the bathroom to change. I might as well change now, so I won't have to later when my contractions get worse and less far apart. I wonder when the next one will be? Harlan said he didn't have anything for the pain, so I have a feeling it's going to be a long night. Possibly a long day, if I don't have her by sunrise.

I step out of the bathroom with my clothes folded and my underwear tucked someplace amongst them. I place them down on the table by the bed. The hospital bed has the smell of clean linens with the faint staleness that most hospital sheets typically smell like, but I sort of like that scent, so it doesn't bother me. I kept my socks on because the cold.

I settle into the bed, resting my head on the double stack of pillows and fixing my blankets where I like, while Harlan brews tea on his hot plate.

"The bed adjusts," He walks over, "It's better for you to lay at an angle."

"Oh." I sit up, so he can move some latch under the bed, fix the bed to an almost ninety degree angle, and then secure it in place. "Thanks."

"Yeah." The doctor treads back over to his desk. It's then that I fully notice that he's changed clothes.

"And thanks for doing this."

"Just doing my job," He yawns, "Let me check your vitals, before you go to sleep."

"Okay," I nod, following his movement, "But I really do appreciate it."

"Well, like I said, it's what I do." Harlan wraps the blood pressure strap around my arm.

My face scrunches as another contraction surges.

"Are you having another contraction?"

I nod, "Yeah, I think so."

"When would you say your first one happened?"

"I don't know, maybe thirty minutes ago."

"Okay," He takes off the blood pressure strap and heads for the bathroom, "I'll check to see how dilated you are real quick."

I peel off the blankets, breathing through it.

The doctor returns promptly, drying his hands and putting on gloves. "Alright, if you could just lift your gown back a little and part your legs for me."

I follow directions, still trying to get passed this contraction.

"Well, you're at three centimeters," Harlan finally says, "You've got seven more to go."

"How long do you think that will take?"

"A couple hours, maybe," Harlan tosses his gloves and goes back to the bathroom, "You might have gone into labor a little before your water broke."

"Really?" I ask with knitted brows.

"Yeah, it happens," He walks to his desk, "Were you having any pain like this before you woke up?"

I think for a minute, but it doesn't take long for me to remember last night ending in a really bad cramp. "Yes, but I thought it was a cramp."

He nods with his back turned. "Well, like I said, try to get some rest. We'll check in about an hour or so."

"Okay." I relax my head against the pillow. I don't close my eyes right away; it all feels so surreal, like I'm already asleep and this isn't actually happening.

"I'm gonna step out for a second to go to my room," The doctor says after a few minutes, "I'll be right back."

I nod my head, folding the blanket a little at the top. I stare the door that's been propped open with a rubber stopper. My eyes begin to grow heavier, but I want to wait until he gets back before I close them. Some part of me has this childlike worry that he won't come back and I'll be in here, alone.

However, I don't have to be in here by myself for very long, because a minute, or two later, someone comes in with a light knock.

"Where's the doctor?"

"He'll be right back," I watch him tread into the room with my backpack. "Where've you been?"

"Miss me?" He sets the backpack down.

I stare dauntingly, which gets him to can the grin.

Negan exhales, dragging the metal chair from out in the hall to my bedside. "I took a shower. And I changed your bedding."

"You mean you had the girls change my bedding."

"No, I mean _I_ fuckin' changed 'em."

I huff through my nose, turning my head towards the window. "Yeah, right."

He sits, apparently ignoring me then, too. "The girls will be down in a bit."

"I know."

"...I brought you some shit from the nursery that I figured you might want."

I move my head back over towards the door at my backpack. "Did you bring the baby something to wear?"

"Yep," He stretches out, "I even brought the stuff Frankie made."

"Oh, you mean the things that she gave to _me_ before you sent her and Tonya away, but that you took when I refused to marry you again?"

Negan looks me in the eye with a scowl on his face. "Yeah, those would be the ones."

I nod, before laying my head in the opposite direction and closing my eyes. "I'm gonna rest for awhile."

"Alright," He says, "I'll be here."

I open my eyes at his words, not exactly sure of how I feel.

 **...**

Unsurprisingly, I don't get a whole lot of sleep. It's impossible to sleep through the contractions when they come, so I've just been laying here for a while, drifting in and out of catnapping.

"Here's the hot water bottle." Harlan brings it over, wrapped in a towel. "This should help."

"Thanks." I lean forward a little, so he can place it behind me.

"You want any ice?"

"Um, not right now."

"Alright," He sits back down, "Sorry, I can't offer you anything else."

"It's okay, I understand." I reply, trying not to sound uneasy. I look over at the clock on the wall. It's been about nine hours, but I'm only at five centimeters.

"Would you like me to get that Hal guy for you?" Danica asks.

"If he's not busy, then yeah," I lay back.

"If he is, is there anyone else?"

"No." I shake my head. _Not unless you can get me Dwight._

I've been thinking about him for the last hour. He's probably asleep, totally unaware of what's going on. It's sort breaking my heart for him and making me even more angry with Negan than I already am.

I shut my eyes at another contraction. Harlan said in little bit, I could try walking down the hall and back to kick things in gear. By now, I'm sure the whole factory is informed, which feels so invasive, but at least I haven't had any unwanted visitors; that is of course aside from the ones that keep coming by for Negan. And I swear, it's always when I'm in the middle of a contraction, or right before one hits.

Sensing my frustration, as well as his own, Negan finally said not to fucking bother him, unless it's something Reed, Laura, or Arat can't answer. When those three need something from him, they've radioed him, which is equally annoying. The radio's been going off all fucking morning.

I don't mean to sound like some pregnant diva, but if he can't turn it all off for a few hours, then he just needs to go. I'm having a baby today, possibly tomorrow; there's no room in this infirmary for any of his fucking war.

The girls came after breakfast and have been here since. Danica apologized for not coming back sooner, like she planned. She laid down in her bed and fell asleep, forgetting to set an alarm. I told her it was okay and honestly, I can't imagine having all of them in here for nine hours. I even told them it was alright, if they wanted to leave for a while when they get bored.

I want to say the same for Negan, but I know he'll just tell me that he's staying. I can tell he's bored out his mind. He's so use to being the leader, strolling around the Sanctuary, or commanding the Saviors, that he's never been idle like this for longer than he wished to be. But I still don't think I can get him to leave.

He's put his feet up on the side of my bed a few times, closing his eyes, but not really sleeping like he's doing now. I wish he'd just go; I'm still so angry at him that I can't even look him without wanting to say something mean-spirited. Letting me sit in my room for an hour, because he was pissed off at me didn't help the case.

"Harlan? I think I might want some ice chips after all."

"Okay," He puts down his book, "If you want, I can maybe give you some clear juice, if I can find any downstairs."

"That'd be great," I take the cup of ice he gives me from a cooler, "I'm starting to get hungry."

"Maybe we can bring you a sandwich, or something?" Amber suggests.

"She can't have food, stupid." Hazel chimes in, flipping through her comic book.

"Oh...why not?"

"Because, if Harlan has to..." Hazel looks over at me, before she turns to Amber and cups her hand around her ear, whispering. She's not as quiet as she thinks she's being.

Amber's eyes grow as big as saucers. They flick over to me for a very brief second, then back to the ground. "Um, I'm gonna go to the library for a while."

"I'll go, too," Hazel stands up with her, "I gotta stretch my legs. You want a new book?"

"Uh, sure," I let her take _One Hundred Years of Solitude_ from my bed, "Thanks."

"Yep," Her eyes scan the cover, "Man, Frankie and Tonya are gonna be so jealous that they missed out on you giving birth."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Hazel walks casually to the door, "They really wanted to be here for it."

"Well, I might still be in labor by time they get back, so they might not miss it after all."

She chuckles, "Yeah, maybe. Make sure it's a boy, alright? We've sort of got a pool going and I get Frankie's iPod, if it's a boy."

I smile at her. "I'll see what I can do."

"I mean, it's only got like thirty songs, but whatever, I still want it." She waves as she leaves the room.

I look over at Harlan, who's looked up from his book. I smile and breathe easy, while I can.

"Fucking idiots."

My smile lowers into a frown at Negan's rude, blasé comment. His eyes are closed still when I turn my head.

A smile tips up slightly. "I can feel those daggers, Anna."

I open my mouth to speak.

"Nan?"

I look over to the door, suddenly forgetting what I was going to say. "Hey."

Hal hurries in, coming over to the side opposite of Negan. "Hey? What the hell do you mean 'hey'?" He puts his arm around me. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I've been here since one a.m., Hal," I chuckle, patting his shoulder, "I didn't want to wake you up."

"You're a bloody twat." He straightens up, affectionately moving my bangs to the side. "How you holding up?"

"I'm at five centimeters, I need to be at ten."

"So, you'll be here for awhile then?"

"Looks like it."

Hal's eyes flick up for a moment. "You want me to stay?"

"Yes, but I know you have to work, so you can come back later."

He exhales through his nose, frustrated that he can't tell me any different. "Can I bring you anything?"

"Thanks, but the only thing I really want right now is food and I can't have anything, until after the baby's born."

His eyes scan my face, brightening. "Bloody hell, Nan."

"What?"

"You're gonna be a mum...you look beautiful."

"Gorgeous."

He chuckles, stifling back tears. "Yeah, gorgeous."

I smile at him, trying not to convey the pang of another contraction hitting.

Hal looks me over. "You alright?"

"Mhm." I hardly say.

"Are you...having a contraction right now?"

"Mhm." I continue to smile.

He takes my hand. "Typical; you trying to hide that something's bothering you, because you don't want anyone to worry."

"Yeah." I mouth.

"You suck at it, you know?"

"I know." I don't know why his shiny eyes make mine get that ache to cry, but they do. I swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm sorry for not coming to see you after I got back."

"Don't worry about it, I'm just glad you're okay."

I breathe. "I just couldn't face you; I was ashamed."

"Don't be ashamed," Hal pets my head, "And if those aren't tears of joy, then knock it off."

I smile, sniffing. "Okay."

Hal looks back at Negan, whose eyes must be open. "Well, I've got to get back to work, but I'll come back after, yeah?"

"Yeah," I kiss his hand, "See ya later."

"See ya." Hal starts to go.

"Oh, Hal?"

"Yes, love?"

"Could you let Marisol know?" I ask him. "I know she can't come up, but she might want to know anyway."

He nods his head. "Alright, sure thing."

"Thank you," I smile haply, "I love you."

"Love you, too." And with that he's gone.

I rest my head again, trying not to cry. I really didn't want him to go.

"Wow," Danica gains my attention, sitting down, "He is _fine_." She whispers that last part.

I smile with tired eyes. I glance over at Negan, again lessening my smile, before I close my eyes.

 **...**

Harlan pulls down my gown, standing up from his chair. "Seven centimeters. Three more to go."

"Okay." I say with a slight whine to my voice.

"I know it's taking awhile, but look on the bright side; you're making good enough progress that I don't think you'll need a c-section."

"But it's still on the table?" Negan questions.

"I'm not gonna rule it out, but right now I'm liking the progress of her dilation." The doctor informs him. "I wanna take get an ultrasound to see the baby's position."

"Okay."

I'm really uncomfortable now. It's been nine more hours and the contractions are now about ten minutes apart. I'm tired, I'm starving, my legs are restless, and my back is killing me. I just want my baby to be here, so this can be over with.

I sent the wives away for the night, not wanting company at this point. I know they were a little disappointed, but I just can't handle any more of them asking if I want or need anything, as well as they're trivial conversations in an attempt to distract me from the pain I can't ignore. I feel like a bitch, but I've been in labor for eighteen hours and I can't smile through my contractions anymore like I have been. I even asked Hal to come back later.

Negan hasn't left. He's had food brought to him here, which is really irritating, since I can't have anything. I've never wanted a sandwich so badly, nor have I hated someone so much for eating one.

What's worse is boredom, or rather how he conveys it. All the inhales and immediate exhales, all the adjusting his is chair, and the crossing of his arms, or tapping of his fingers. I especially hate the way he leans his head back, like it's such a huge inconvenience to sit here and do nothing. I've kept my mouth shut about it, but my patience is shaving down with each labor pain.

"Hm," Harlan stares at the screen, "Looks like the baby's not completely in position."

I put my attention on the monitor. "What?"

"See?" He points. "Just about there, but not quite."

On the screen, I can make out the baby laying sort of sideways with the head towards the bottom.

"I can try to move it myself."

"And if you can't?" Negan asks, suddenly closer to my bedside.

Harlan looks at the two of us. "Then we may have to consider a c-section after all."

I inhale, nodding. "Okay."

"If that's the case," The doctor adds with a serious tone, "I think we should discuss what to do in the event that..." He bites his lip, "That I can't save both."

"That you can't save both?" Negan furrows his brows. "What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"Well," Harlan glances to me briefly, "If I do have to perform a c-section, I don't have anything to numb the area. She could pass out from the pain, which could put her and the baby at risk from the trauma. And there's of course the chance of death when performing such a serious procedure under these circumstances."

"For who?"

"Well, for both, but I'm afraid that Nan would most likely be more at risk of not surviving, if I can get the baby out."

Negan scoffs, "Well, what are the odds she and the baby will be fine?"

"If this were before the change, I'd say-"

"Well, this isn't fucking before the change, so what are the fucking odds now?" Negan snaps.

"Honestly, I can't say," Harlan tells him, "I haven't had to perform a c-section in years, so I don't know what will happen."

Negan looks down at his hands, exhaling. "Alright, so what are our options?"

"Well, if things don't go well, I'm afraid Nan would have to make a choice," Harlan looks over at me with somber eyes, "If I save the baby, or if I save her."

"No, that's not an option," Negan retorts angrily, "You're gonna save-"

"The baby."

Negan turns his head with his mouth still open. "What?"

I take a deep, composing breath. "I want you to save the baby," I tell Harlan, "I want to live, but if it comes down to it, I want you to save the baby over me."

"Nan-"

"It's my choice and that's what I want." I continue, as if Negan's not even here.

Harlan nods his head, troubled. "Okay."

"Can I get up and take a walk now?"

"Sure, o-of course."

"Okay." I exhale, pushing myself up out of bed. I'm in just my hospital gown and spa socks, but I don't care. I put my hair back into a bun and then nod. "Okay."

"You want me to walk with you?"

"No, its okay, I can manage," I walk with my hands on my lower back, as if it'll ease the discomfort, "Why don't you get something to eat, Harlan? You deserve a hot meal for having to sit here all day." I stop just before I start to walk. "Oh, and if the girls, or Hal comes back, please don't tell them. I don't want them to be upset."

Harlan smiles. "You got it."

I leave the infirmary, feeling a stiffness in my legs from laying all day. I stick by the wall, in case I need to use it for support. It's harder to walk this time; the weight and pain working in tandem. It's still nice to get out. The infirmary's colder than the hall for some reason.

"Nan?"

 _God, just leave me alone._

"We need to talk about this." Negan demands, appearing at my side.

"No, we don't," I retort, "It's my decision and mine alone to make; I choose the baby."

He scoffs, "This is a serious fucking decision, Nan. You don't fuckin' think maybe you should think about it with careful fucking consideration?"

"I have thought about it, Negan," I enlighten him as I shuffle down the hall, "Everyday since Harlan told me I could be at risk of preterm labor. If there's a chance the baby could live, I want it to...even if that means I don't make it."

"Why?"

"Why?" I pause to look over at him with furrowing, incredulous eyebrows. "Are you really asking me why I'd want the child that I've been carrying for all these months, through all the fucking stress you've made me endure, to live?"

Negan stares at me, searching my eyes.

I sigh, carrying on. "Because this is the only child I will ever have. I can't be with Dwight; I won't ever be with you again, so this is it for me. I'm not gonna just let it be another fatality to this world."

Negan huffs, "So, you're just gonna lay down and die? What about what you said about sticking around, so the baby knows it's loved, huh? You just gonna flip it the fuckin' bird now?"

"No, I'm gonna fight to make it through," I turn around to walk back, "But if it comes down to me or the baby, then I'm gonna let Harlan save the baby." I feel tears start to gather as it all starts to gravely sink in. "I would hope that you would understand and tell my child that I gave my life for theirs."

"No," Negan shakes his head, "That's not gonna happen."

"Well, I'm glad I knew better than to expect you to not disappointment me."

"I mean, it's not gonna happen, because you're gonna fuckin' live."

I scoff. "You gonna threaten Harlan's life, if he doesn't save both of us?"

"He can fucking do it, there's no fucking guarantee that it's fatal."

"He told you he doesn't know that he can," I look over, "You can't just order people do whatever you want, Negan. Some things are beyond your control. I know that must be a real shocker to you, but it's true."

Negan licks his lips, frustrated.

"Aren't you all about saving people?" I ask him. "That's what I'd be doing, if it comes down to it."

He scoffs through his nose. "Yeah, but-"

"But what?" I arch my brow. "What's the point of saving someone's life, if it means giving your own?"

Negan peers over at me.

I shrug, "I thought you'd be happy."

"Happy? Why the fuck would I be happy?"

"Because you'll get what you came for," I reply airily, "All you've wanted from me these past nine months is the baby and either way, you'll get the baby."

"Do you really fucking think that's all I want?" Negan shakes his head, smiling in bitter disbelief. "Fuck, you act like I'm some kind of monster."

"If I chose my life over the baby's, you would hate and resent me."

"I-"

"And if I lost the baby?" I wipe a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand. "You'd have no reason to keep me around, so you'd just throw me back down in the quarters."

"Now, wait a fuckin' minute!" Negan angrily stops me.

"Don't touch me!" I tug away, wincing as a contraction surges through me. I steady myself on the wall, pushing his hand away. "Don't!"

"I was fucking trying to-"

"I don't care!" I breathe as I try to take another step. "Just go away. I don't know why you came; all you do is upset me. I can't even look at you."

Negan exhales, exhausted. "I'm fucking trying here, Nan."

"Well, I don't want you to," I cry now from both the pain and the emotions he's riled up, "I just want you to leave me alone." I walk into the infirmary. "Why don't you go somewhere else for awhile?"

 **...**

The cell's like an icebox, but it's like that all the time, even in the summer. For whatever reason, it never gets higher than sixty-two degrees in here, but that's why the leader designated this closet and the one next to it to be cells. Despite it never being washed from the last person who wore it, the boiler suit isn't actually a bad thing to have, considering it keeps you plenty warm.

There's no way of telling time in here, but the man knows that he was put back in just before sunset, so they'll bring dinner by soon enough. It's a dog food sandwich, but it's better than starving. Besides, he knows there's only about ten cans left, so he won't have to eat it for much longer.

He takes out the sonogram that she had given him before she ran away. He can barely make it out in the pitch black, but he runs his thumb over the writing.

The admiration is short lived when the man hears footsteps, followed by the rattle of keys. He tucks the picture away, scooting back from the door, before it's opened. When the light moves in, he looks up, staring at the blonde who's partly the reason he's here. Despite that, he's grown to be a little glad when it's her, or Keller. They won't throw the sandwich in, causing it to splatter, or make snide comments.

She stares back, face covered partially by shadow. She extends a paper plate with a mound of sandwich. "Here."

He reaches up and takes it, looking away from her at once. He notices a familiar smell, but it's not the stench of dog food. The man curiously inspects the food. Between the stale bread is cheese and mayonnaise. The scar-faced prisoner looks up in question.

"Thought you might like something a little special tonight, given the circumstances."

The man puzzles his brows. "What circumstances?"

"You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

She twists her mouth to the side. "Nan's in labor."

He relaxes his furrow, astonished. "What?"

"Yeah...I guess she popped sometime around midnight," The blonde woman reports, "She hasn't had the baby yet."

The man stares. "Where is she at?"

"The infirmary," She replies, "I don't know anything more than that, just that she's still waiting to have it."

"Well, is everything okay? She's not in pain, right?"

"She's about to push out a human being from her snatch without any meds, what do you think?" The woman saucily scoffs. "She's in pain, but I don't think anything's wrong."

"Can you-"

"No, I can't go check," She denies, before the man has time to ask, "She doesn't want anyone up there, so Negan ordered everyone to stay away from the infirmary."

The man huffs through his nose, but nods.

"I'll...keep you posted, though," She says with a lighter tone, "You know, when she actually has the baby."

"Thanks." He says, biting into the sandwich, bitter.

"Okay..." The blonde backs out, "Sweet dreams."

"Yeah." The man scoffs.

He chews in the dark, feeling the heaviness of worry and frustration. He inhales and exhales deeply as he swallows, staring out into the pitch black nothing. Fuck. He wants to be there for her. Instead, he's stuck in here with nothing to do except wait to hear back.

He leans his back against the wall. Despite feeling useless and powerless, the man can't help but smile a little. He takes out the sonogram again, staring down fondly, as if he can see it.

 **...**

I let out a small gasp, squeezing my eyes shut as Harlan attempts to move the baby down more into position. It's now five minutes past midnight, a full twenty- four hours since my water broke. I reached ten centimeters almost two hours ago, but because the baby hasn't moved from it's odd position the doctor wants to try turning it, before we bring up what we've already talked about.

"You're doing great," Harlan coaches me as he works his hands along my stomach, "We're gonna get this little one head first, alright? Just a little bit more ways to go."

I nod my head, holding back tears. "Mhm."

I think the stress of earlier, coupled with the daunting realization of possibly facing my mortality and leaving my baby alone in this world sped up the process. Ever since I got back from my walk, my contractions have become increasingly worse with decreased space between them. I leaped from seven centimeters to nine in about an hour's time.

Negan didn't come back in right away, but I know he didn't travel far after our spat. I'd guess that he may have just walked down the hall and back again, cooling down. I didn't say anything to him when he did come back, sitting down in the same chair, hunched over with his arms resting on his legs. We weren't going to come to an agreement, despite it being a decision that's totally not up to him, and I was already drying my tears, so I just remained a silent sufferer until Harlan came back. I even closed my eyes to put out any notion he may have had about talking to me.

I tilt my head back on the bed, exhaling at the amount of discomfort.

"I know, it's unpleasant," Harlan tries to soothe me, "Just focus on the pay off."

"I'm trying."

"What's this above your knee?"

I open my eyes, confused at first. "It's a tattoo."

"A tattoo of what?"

"Of a..." I shut my eyes again at a contraction, "A butterfly."

"What's it say above it?"

"Lucter et emergo."

"What does that mean?" Harlan asks me, still trying to turn the baby.

"It means..." I take a deep breath and let it out, "It means; I struggle and emerge."

"I knew that," He smiles at me, "I took Latin in college."

"Then why did you ask?"

"So, you would hear yourself say it," He answers, "We're gonna give it a few more tries, alright?"

I nod my head, trying to ignore Negan's slow pacing in the background.

"Alright," He nods back, "Is that a bird by your elbow?"

"Mhm," I nod again, "Rett did it."

"Oh, yeah?" Harlan makes conversation. "I treated two people for infections they got from getting tattoos from him, so I guess you were the lucky one, huh?"

"I guess." I say, wincing.

"Well, it looks nice," He adds politely, clearly trying to distract me, "It sort of reminds me of that blackbird song. Do you know the one I'm talking about?"

"I think so."

Harlan wipes sweat from his brow, stepping back. "Alright, let's check the ultrasound."

With Harlan out of the way, I get a better glimpse of Negan's pace and it makes me anxious. "Could you stop doing that?"

Negan pauses, looking over at me. "Breathing?

"Pacing back and forth," I clarify, "It's making me sick."

"Well, then stop watching me."

"Get out."

"Go fuck yourself."

The doctor looks over his shoulder, a little surprised at our leader's words towards a mother in labor. It's like he hasn't been here long enough. He turns forward again with a slight gather of his brows.

"Okay, let's see if we made any progress." He runs the device across my belly, which feels oddly nice. The heartbeat comes through. "Heart's still nice and strong, so that's good," Harlan reports, "We're still a little traverse, though."

"So, all that fuckin' work for nothing?" Negan scoffs, irritable.

"Well, it's not always effective."

"Well, you're gonna fucking try some more, right?"

"I think we need to take a little break, but-"

"No, you're not gonna fucking take a break," Negan barks, "You're gonna get up out of that damn chair and keep at it."

"Negan." I snap low.

"No, this asshole isn't gonna fucking quit, so he can cut you open and gut you like fucking shark!"

"He's not quitting," I scoff, "He's just taking a break; he's been at it for thirty minutes."

"Well, then he needs to fucking trying harder, because it was all for fucking nothing."

"He-" I hold off speaking, getting yet another contraction. I breathe, "He's trying his best."

"Well, his best isn't fucking good enough," Negan argues back, "You might be cool with dying, but I sure as fuck-"

"I can try all night," Harlan interrupts, making us both change our gazes, "But bottom line is, if I can't get her to move down, we've got to consider the alternative, or both mother and child could be in danger."

Negan scoffs, almost shaking his head, before he pauses. His eyes blink back to the doctor. "Her?"

"Yes." Harlan nods his head.

Negan looks over at me. "Did you know?"

I close my mouth. "Mhm."

"Speak the fuck up."

"Yes, Negan," I say more clearly, partly because another pang, "I knew."

He huffs, "Why didn't you fucking tell me?"

"Because you had just thrown my boyfriend in a cell and then forced me to go to the infirmary."

Negan grazes his hand down his mouth. "Un-fucking-believable."

I shut my eyes at this bad one. "You know what? Just get out."

He scoffs again, "I'm not fucking going any-"

"Shut up!" I wail in pain. "Just shut up and get out!"

"Fuck y-"

"You think I'm cool with dying?!" I scream at him. "You think I'm not afraid, if it has to come to that? I am, I'm absolutely terrified!" My tired exhale sounds like a whine. "I'm terrified of leaving my daughter with you!"

Negan stares at me in the hospital bed, mouth scowling.

Tears well up and my face scrunches as I put my hand over my eyes. "Make him get out, make him go away."

I hear Negan exhale. "Hell, Nan, I...I'm sor-"

"Don't touch me!" I practically throw his hand away from mine, "Get out! I don't want you here!" Now I cover my face with both hands. "I just want Dwight."

The doctor's chair makes a sliding sound against the floor. "Okay, I need her to be calm, if we're gonna try to turn the baby."

I sob in my hands; angry, afraid, and unable to stop the heftiness of my breathing. The pain doesn't help. A light hand touches my shoulder.

"Nan," Harlan calmly says, "Nan, I need you to calm down."

"I don't want him here anymore!" I gasp, "I want Dwight."

"He's gone, honey," The doctor shushes me, "It's okay. He took a walk, he's gone, so I need you to calm down, alright? We can't do anything until you calm down."

"I-I need a minute."

"Okay," Harlan nods his head, "I want you to take a moment and just breathe. I'm gonna step out for just a moment."

"No, don't leave me!" I cry.

"I'll be right outside," He motions to the door, "Right outside that door in the hall, okay?"

I sniff, nodding. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay," He smooths his hands down the front of his pants, taking a breath himself, before walking out of the room.

 **...**

The leader storms out into the hallway. He works his hands up through his hair and down his face, livid. He can feel his hands tremble ever so slightly with the raw emotion coursing through him. He punches the wall, bloodying a knuckle.

"Fuck!" He shakes it off, knowing that it's not broken.

"Nan, I need you to calm down." The doctor tries to calm the mother of his child inside, which makes him even angrier.

"I don't want him here anymore!" She yells, distraughtly. "I want Dwight."

The leader starts to pace, trying to calm the fuck down.

"I'll be right outside," The doctor says, "Right outside that door in the hall, okay?"

He enters the hall a moment later, stopping when he sees the leader standing there.

"Why aren't you fuckin' in there trying to turn the baby?" He growls.

The doctor, a little intimidated, puts his hand on his hips. "I'm giving her a minute to calm herself, before I start turning again."

The leader deeply grimaces at him, but looks off, nodding. "You think she'll need a c-section?"

"I'm hoping that's not the case," The doctor says, "I really am trying to help her the best I can, but like I said, there's only so much I can do."

The leader glides his tongue along his teeth, unsatisfied with that answer.

"She's made it clear to me what her choice is in the event that we have to do a c-section," The doctors tells him, " Now, I'm gonna do all that can to make sure that both mother and child are safe by the end of the night, in any case, but I can't work miracles and if I can't save them both, I have to respect her wishes."

The leader looks over at the doctor. That's not gonna fucking work for him. "Doc, you better hope she pulls through. No, scratch that; you better fucking hope they both pull through."

The doctor peers back, before sighing. "Negan, I know this is difficult, but-"

"Because if they don't; I'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

The doctor's taken back, staring with an incredulous surprise at what was just said.

"Even if you try your hardest," The leader threatens, "And I know you're trying your hardest; I will kill you if either one dies and I can't fuckin' promise it'll be quick and painless."

With that fire set under the doctor's ass, the leader turns and stalks off down the hall towards the stairs.

"Now, why don't you get back in there and deliver?"

The leader's face falls into a scowl as he treads the hall. His knuckle's stopped hurting, or maybe he's stopped thinking about it, he doesn't fucking know.

When he reaches the stairwell, he kicks out the stopper and goes down a few steps. As his foot hits the fourth step, he feels his weight go under and he sits down, breathless. He brings his hand down his face again, trying to fucking get a hold of himself.

This isn't fucking happening. That doctor doesn't know his dick from a thermometer. She's gonna be fine. Her and the baby. They'll be home by tomorrow afternoon, safe and sound. And she'll hate him for a while, wanting to keep her stubborn ass pride in tact, but she'll come around in time.

He exhales. She'll be fine. She's not gonna just go like that and leave him with the baby. How the fuck is he supposed to fed it without her swollen titties?

At that thought, the leader's brows furrow. How is he supposed to fed the baby without her? There's no baby formula here. And until they wipe out all those assholes, he can't get to the Hilltop to see if there's any there. The baby could starve by then.

"Fuck!" He curses under his breath.

It's not supposed to be this way. All those years of trying and losing, this time was supposed to be different. This time, he was gonna be a father.

He licks his lips as the memories from before start coming back. He had always said that she was still a mother, even if she never carried one to term. It meant a lot to her at first, but then after a few more losses, the first thing she'd tell him was not to say it. If he had been better to her, he might have gotten her flowers, or some shit on Mother's Day.

She once told him that he was technically a father all those times, too, but he could never get himself to feel that way. It's awfully funny how people can be like that; put out kindness, but not be willing to accept it back. Not that he ever fucking deserved it from her, after all the shit he pulled.

He rubs his eyes. This isn't fucking fair. Life's not fucking fair; he knows that, but what the fuck? He saves people. He set up boundaries, made rules that kept people from dying. He made the weak, strong and then got them to bring people together.

If he can't save his daughter and her mother, then what kind of fucking man is he? The same helpless asshole that couldn't save his wife and just had to watch her slowly burn out. The fucking coward who couldn't put her down. A weak fucking let down.

His vision blurs and he curses again, before pulling himself up. _Don't be a fucking pussy_. The leader fishes out the keys from his right side pocket. She's gonna be fine. They're gonna be fine.

 **...**

"AH!" I yell out in excruciating pain.

The contractions are coming in hot and heavy. It's probably really cold in here, my fingertips are pink, but other than that, I can't feel it. My hair is drenched in sweat that I can feel bead out of my pores.

Harlan comes out of the bathroom with urgency, drying his hands with a towel. "Alright, are you ready?"

I nod my head distressingly. "Yeah."

"Okay," Harlan nods in confirmation, "Remember to breathe how I showed you, alright?"

"Okay." I start to breath with a quicker rhythm.

"Alright, Nan, we're gonna start pushing on three," The doctor instructs, "Are you ready?"

"Yes!"

"Okay; one-two-three! Push!"

I exert the muscles below with all my might, squeezing my eyes shut.

"A few more seconds... okay, rest."

I release my held breath, unsure of whether or not I accomplished anything.

"On the count of three, you're gonna push again."

I nod.

"One, two, three push!"

I push again this time a little harder. I don't know if it's the pushing that's horrible, or if it's that I'm pushing through a contraction, but a small cry slips out.

"Okay!" Harlan gives me the go ahead to relax. "Good job."

"Can you see the head yet?"

"No, not yet, but you're getting close," He encourages me, "Alright, on three. One, two, three!"

I push, gripping the sheets.

"What the fuck's going on?"

My head turns to the door and I immediately lose focus at the sight of Negan in the doorway.

"No!" I sob, "No, he can't be here!" Harlan gets up from his chair in front of me. "I need her to be calm and focused on pushing, so I-"

"Pushing?" A glimpse of Negan turning his head my way makes me move mine, so he'll be out of sight. "You're having her push?"

"I was able to turn the baby," I hear Harlan inform him, "So, I've started having her push."

"Does that mean she's in the clear?"

"For now, yes, but I need her to not be distracted, or under any stress. If you could please just step outside, so I can-"

"That's my fucking daughter she's having, I'm not-"

"Get out!" I cry over him. "You can't be here! Harlan, make him get out!"

"Nan-"

"No!" Tears gush out. "I don't want you in here!"

"Look, she's getting upset, I need you to go out in the hall." Harlan braves to say. "Do whatever you have to do after, but right now, you need to back off."

I graze my hand through my hair, exhausted and immensely uncomfortable, as I breathe to control what I can.

Someone snaps their fingers and then I hear what sounds like bare feet tripping on the cement floor.

"Fucking, get in there, asshole." Negan growls.

I swallow some spit, opening my mouth to yell at him again.

"Nan?"

I pause, opening my eyes and looking over. I blink with tears in my eyes as I stare in bewildered surprise. "Dwight?"

"Hey." He breaks into a smile, walking over to the bed.

I put my hand out and he reaches to take it.

"I need the area to stay sterile, so you need to wash up in the sink." Harlan interrupts. "There's an extra pair of clothes in there as well."

I watch him go to the bathroom and close the door, before my eyes move to Negan just outside the doorway. Our eyes meet, but only briefly. I close mine again at the long, sharp pain that echoes the last contraction.

"You ready to push some more?"

"Mhm." I breathe in and out to prepare myself.

The bathroom door opens and Dwight steps out, cleaner and out of that filthy suit. He sits in the chair that Negan sat in for all those hours and scoots it up to the bed.

"Hi," He takes my desperate hand, "It's okay, don't cry, Nan."

My lip quivers. "What happened to you?"

"Don't worry about me," He brings my hand up to his bruised face and kisses it, "I'm fine."

"You're not hurt?" I touch his face gingerly.

"No, honey, I'm alright," Dwight smiles, caringly touching a strand from my bangs, "You look beautiful."

"I'm tired," I tell him, trying to keep back tears because I feel too tired to cry them, "The baby's not even born yet and I'm already frustrated at her."

He chuckles softly.

"I'm becoming my mother."

"No, you'll be a good mom."

I close my eyes with more agony. "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I."

"I love you."

He kisses my hand. "I love you, too."

"Are you ready?" Harlan asks.

I nod my head. "Yes."

"Okay, on three again."

Harlan counts down to three and I push as hard as I can. I squeeze Dwight's hand as I do. I mewl as I press my muscles with determined force. The doctor tells me to relax and then push again a few seconds later. And repeat.

After about twenty minutes of this task, I drop my head back on the bed. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," Harlan roots me on, "You're doing great, you're doing so good, Nan."

"I'm tired."

"I know, you are, honey, but you gotta keep going until the baby's here," He tells me, "This is what you've been waiting for, right?"

I nod my head for the billionth time, steamed. "Yes."

"Okay, so then you gotta keep pushing."

I put my hand over my eye, rubbing it like a crybaby. "I can't!"

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't," I turn my head against the pillow, "Dwight."

"I'm right here, baby," He wipes my forehead, "You're doing good."

"No, I'm not, nothing's happening."

"Well, keep pushing."

"Easier said than done, Dwight."

He snickers, planting a kiss on my head. "You're strong; you can do it."

"I know I can do it," I grumble, irritable, "I'm just tired."

"Well, the doctor will let you rest as soon as the baby's born."

I gasp, constricting his hand. "Okay, okay, I'll fucking push some more already!"

"One-two-three push!"

I curl forward, putting my hand under my knee as I push.

"Nice push, let's try it one more time."

I try one more time. And then one more time after that and then three more times following that. I knew this would be hard, but this is the most difficult thing I've ever had do in my life.

"Alright!" Harlan cheers. "I see the head!"

"Really?" I ask, exasperated. "You see my baby?"

"Yes," He smiles at me; "One good push and you'll be saying hello to your daughter."

An emotional smile huffs on to my drained face. I nod my head. "Okay."

"Okay, you're ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

Harlan looks very briefly to the side, before focusing on me again. "Alright, one-two-three push!"

I wince my eyes and give it all I got.

"Okay, one more push, she's almost here. One more; push! Push,push,push,push!"

I relax for a second and then push one more time. A scream of pain rises out of me like a small battle cry and then I abruptly exhale as I feel my body relax.

Dwight's hand endears mine with a soft grip. He smiles in awe.

"I'm gonna clear the airway." Harlan says.

A small whine enters the room, before a cry.

The doctor steps over to me with a bundled blanket. He smiles down at the bundle, gently lowering it down to me.

I reach up and take my squawking baby in my arms. I pant under my breath as I gaze down at her bunched up little face that wails.

"Congratulations," Harlan smirks, "It's a girl."

I smile down at her, soothing my hand over her head. I lightly caress her tiny fist with my finger. She whimpers, as if she's going to stop crying, but then she lets out another, strong cry of life.

I look over at Dwight with the same beaming smile. His eyes meet mine and his amazed smile tips up, before he reaches over to touch her hand.

"Do you like her?" I ask.

Dwight chuckles, still awestruck. "Yeah, I like her. She's beautiful."

"I'm gonna cut the umbilical cord," Harlan replaces his gloves with a clean pair, "And then it's just placenta and then I'll clean her up and you can feed her, if she'll latch on."

"Okay." I nod, barely listening to a word he just said.

"Would you like to help cut the cord?" The doctor asks Dwight.

Dwight's eyes snap up. "Oh, uh-"

"Actually..." Negan chimes in, straightening up from the doorway, and strolling in, "Dwighty boy's got to get back to his cell now." He whistles sharply and Keller enters the infirmary as well.

I feel my face despair and I grab Dwight's arm. "No."

He pats my hand as he willfully stands. "It's okay, Nan."

"No, don't leave me."

"I have to," Dwight leans over and kisses my temple, "Don't cry, okay?"

"I need you."

"No, you don't," He assures me, glancing momentarily at Keller as he takes his arm, "You'll be okay. I'm proud of you."

More tears let out as he slips through my fingers, crying more now because the baby's crying. "Don't go."

"I love you." He says, as he's guided to the door. He looks over his shoulder just before he's gone.

"Alright, cord's cut and clamped," Harlan sighs, setting down his tool, "Now you have to deliver the placenta. It should only take a minute."

He looks across the bed at Negan. I, on the other hand, keep my head turned from him.

"Uh, Nan, could you pass the baby over to Negan for a moment, so we can take care of this?"

I glance up at Harlan, almost stubborn enough to say no.

"Please?" His eyes are stern gentle. "Just for a moment?"

I sigh through my nose, taking a look at my baby, and then begrudgingly at Negan. I lift the baby in her blanket up. She cries a little harder, so my face scrunches a little as Negan scoops her up from me.

"Shh," Negan starts to gently bounce her in his arm as he sway ever so carefully, "There, there. Daddy's got you."

"You tore a little when the baby came out," Harlan informs me after inspection, "It's not a big deal, I'll put in some sutures once the placenta's out. "

I deliver the placenta with little to no effort. The only difficult part was having to take my eyes off Negan with the baby. Once that's done and over with, Harlan suggests trying to get her to eat. I think he repeated that, so I wouldn't have to ask Negan for the baby back.

But I may have to, because Negan barely heard that. His eyes are fixated on the infant he's cradling in his arms. They appear soft, yet bright and doting. His smile is mild and warm. I don't think I've ever seen him so contently quiet. When the baby whines, no longer wailing, he calmly shushes her under his breath. It unnerves me.

"Negan." I call his name and he looks up, smiling still. I part my lips, mystified when those eyes of his meet mine. But the prick of the needle in Harlan's hands, snaps me out of it. "I need to feed her."

"Sure thing, mama ." Negan groans a bit as he gets up from the chair. He hands her to me, brushing his massive hand over her little head when she's back in my arms. "She's a goddamn beauty."

I don't outwardly agree with him as I work my arm out of the loop around my shoulder that holds the gown close. Once I've got that off, I'm able to open the gown from the side, exposing one breast for now.

"Um, she should latch on herself, right?" I wince at the feel of be stitched up.

"Go ahead and guide her, but yes, she should starting suckling on her own," Harlan relays, "Let me know, if nothing comes out."

I position the baby how I assume she should be for feeding. I then maneuver my breast close to her mouth. As we make skin-to-skin contact, her mouth opens and after a little direction, she latches on. It's a strange sensation, but I smile with maternal pride and adoration. A little milk trickles down the side of her mouth as she hungrily suckles.

Out of nowhere, my head recalls a poem that I haven't read in long time, but that I have heard uttered in pieces for the past few weeks.

"So, have we got a name picked out?" Dr. Carson inquires.

"Yes, we do."

My smile lowers as I look up from my daughter.

* * *

 **Finally, the baby's here! It was a laborious chapter to write, pun fully intended.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **I loved reading everyone's praise of Nan taking a stand, as well as the overwhelming excitement for the baby's arrival. You people are awesome!**


	61. The Baby

_"What's it gonna be, darlin'?" The man in front of me inquires. "I need to know."_

 _I stare back at him, unsure of what he means. The shovel in my hands weighs a ton, so I drop it._

 _"I need to know." He repeats._

 _My lips are parted but I can't speak. I look to the man in the woods again, as if for hint, or help._

 _The man chuckles into an exhale. "I didn't want it to have to be this way."_

 _I search his face, unnerved by his words as a familiarity rings through me. I try to pull my arm away, but he tightens his grip instantly._

 _"I told you that." He darkly tells me. "I didn't want it to be this way."_

 _Before I can struggle to break free, the man forces his hand forward and my breath catches in my throat as I'm off my feet. At first, it's slow as I stare in shock at the figure with the crying bundle in his arms grow further and further from me. Then, like the break of a red leaf from a tree, I plummet into the darkness._

 _I frantically get to my feet. I look up at the crying above, wiping my eye when a raindrop falls directly in it. I then stare at the dark before me. My hands touch the wall of the earth, searching for a root. It doesn't look that far up. When I finally find one that I can use as a peg, I stick my foot in it and claw my fingers into the dirt as I try to climb up. However, the root gets pulled out from the weight and I fall flat on my back again._

 _"Shit!"_

 _"It's okay," He says, taking my elbow off his chest with care, "Just get back up and try again."_

 _I look over at him, putting my hand on his chest as I pick myself up. Charlie smiles at me from where he lays. I turn and begin looking again for another root. He hums his favorite song behind me as I secure my foot into a root and boost myself up. The crying fills me with a sense of urgency; I have to get back up there._

 **...**

I inhale sharply, yet softly when I'm pulled from my light snooze by the door opening. I smile a sleepy smile. "Hi."

"Good morning," Dr. Carson greets back in a hushed voice, "Sorry to wake you."

"No, it's okay," I tell him, "I was just resting my eyes."

Harlan nods as he takes a sip from the mug he brought in with him. "I can come back in about an hour, if you want to rest some more."

"I'm fine."

"Alright," He sets his mug gently down on his desk, "How's she doing?"

"Great," I rasp, "She ate about an hour ago."

"No issues?"

"Mm-mm, no."

"Good," Harlan nearly whispers, "Your arms getting tired?"

I smile again. "I've got my pillow underneath my elbow."

The doctor smiles before his eyes are distracted by the shifting in chair beside the bed.

I also turn my gaze towards Negan, smile lowering into just a plain mouth.

He groans as he stretches out of sleep, taking his feet off the end of the hospital bed. "Fuck," He rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger, "What time is it?"

"Seven."

"Shit," He stretches some more, reaching up over his head, "I should've been up two hours ago."

Negan gets up from the chair he slept in. He glances down at the sleeping baby in my arms, smiling, before he walks towards the bathroom and shuts the door.

I exhale through my nose, lightly patting my bundled daughter. It's more to comfort me than her.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

I look over at Harlan. "What?"

"You must be starving," He says, peering up from the work on his desk, "What would you like?"

"Oh, um, anything is fine with me," I answer, thinking with my stomach, "I just want something eat."

Harlan snickers. "I'll see what I can get you."

The toilet flushes and not long after, the sink turns on. The water goes off and Negan comes out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The door makes a rather loud _bang!_ when it reaches the frame. My eyes immediately go to my baby. Her little brows knit slightly, but return to normal.

I sigh, relieved and frustrated. "Is it too much to ask that you be quiet?" I sharply ask Negan. "You could've woke her up."

"Could have, but didn't," Negan retorts with a little humor in his tone, "She's out like a light."

"Sh, keep your voice down, or she won't be," I continue to gingerly tap under her, "And don't turn on the lights."

Negan refrains from flipping the switch and then comes back over. "God, she's a beauty."

I return my gaze back to her. She is beautiful. She sleeps soundly in my arms, not a care in the world.

"I'm gonna go upstairs," Negan informs me, "You need anything?"

"No," I reply, looking up in question, "How long will you be gone?"

Negan snickers through his nose, petting my bangs out of my face, which makes me move my head a little. "I'm just gonna grab a quick shower and then I'll be right back down."

"Okay." My eyes glance back down at my daughter.

"You want anything from up there?"

"No."

"You hungry?"

"Harlan said he'd get me something."

"I'll have the workers bring you some breakfast."

"No," I urgently insist, peering back up at him, "I don't want anyone to come here."

Negan's brows furrow slightly as he scan my eyes. "Alright, fine. I'll bring you whatever's left over from upstairs."

"That's fine." I blandly say.

"Should I tell the girls not to come down?" He asks me with a little wryness. "They're gonna want to see the baby, but I can tell 'em you don't want them in here."

"No, they can come," I tell him, irritable, "But I don't want people coming in to gawk at-"

"The first baby ever born here?"

I knit my brows, turning my head his way.

Negan stares back. "You should be proud; not only are you the mother of _my_ firstborn, but you're the woman who gave birth to the first baby born at the Sanctuary."

I close my lips at that; unsure of how I feel about what Negan thinks is an honor.

"Alright," He turns to leave, "I'll be back."

 **...**

"She is the cutest thing I have ever seen!"

"I know, look at that little nose," Danica cradles the baby with a big smile, "She looks like you, Nan."

I smile. "You think so?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Yeah, wasn't your hair this color when you were born?"

"Yeah."

"She's gonna have such pretty hair when it finally changes," Hazel pets her head beside Danica, "Not that it's not already pretty, but you know what I mean."

"What color are her eyes?" Amber asks on the other side of Dani.

"Um, they're-" I pause what I was going to say when the baby starts to get fussy in Danica's arms.

"Uh-oh, what's the matter?" Danica asks the baby.

"She's probably hungry," I stand up from the bed, "Here, I'll see if she needs a change and then feed her."

"Okay," Danica rises from the chair, lightly rocking the baby, "It's okay, I'm giving you back to your mama."

I accept her back, hushing her in a calming breath. I carry her over to the bed, where I lay her gently down, unwrapping the white blanket she's swaddled in. She doesn't like being put down, so she cries as I change her cloth diaper. Harlan hands me a fresh diaper and some safety pins. It makes me incredibly nervous to fasten the diapers, but Harlan assured me that the safety pins wouldn't come undone if I made sure they were secure.

When she's got a clean diaper on, I wrap her back up and sit back on the bed to nurse her. I'm still in my hospital gown since it's easier to slip out of to feed the baby.

"Do you want us to come back, so you can have some privacy?"

"No, it's okay," I tell Danica, "You can stay, if you want."

"Okay."

I guide my breast over to the baby's mouth, so she can latch on. I lean back on the bed when she starts suckling.

"You want me to put the pillow under your arm, so it won't get sore?"

"Sure."

"No problem," Danica gets up and walks to the other side of the bed to prop the pillow under my elbow, "There."

"Thank you."

She smiles, looking down at the baby. "She's beautiful."

I smile back, then gaze down at my baby. "Yeah, she is."

She was born today, November second, at two o'five in the morning. She's twenty inches long and weighs about eight pounds, seven ounces. The doctor gave her a full exam after I fed her for the first time. According to his tests, she appears to be completely healthy. Negan wasn't happy when Harlan made her cry when he took a blood sample from her foot, but what could he do? It was to know her blood type. She's A positive. Harlan then asked both Negan and I what our blood types were. When we answered him, he nodded and wrote it down on his charts.

"Could you switch the pillow to the other side for me, please?"

"Absolutely." Danica gets up to change it over.

"Thank you." I say as I transfer the baby over to my other breast.

"Has anyone been by to see her?"

"Uh, no, but aside from Hal, I don't really want anyone to come," I wipe a trickle of milk from the baby's face, "Maybe Lillian and Marisol."

"Oh, workers aren't allowed past the second floor," Danica reminds me, "Negan said until order's restored, only the workers who bring us our meals are allowed up and they're technically escorted by a Savior."

I look over at Danica's apologetic face. "But Lillian works in the library...and Marisol works in the kitchens."

"He's not concerned about Lillian and Marisol would only be allowed up, if she were bringing us food."

I nod, resting my head on the bed. I guess that's my fault. "Okay...how many people know?"

"That you had the baby? Everyone; Negan made an announcement this morning on the catwalk."

"He what?" I exhale, distressed. The baby unlatches from my breast, so I clean her mouth with the blanket and then prop her up against my shoulder to burp her. "Why would he do that?"

Danica shrugs. "Pride."

I shake my head as I pat the baby's back. "Whatever."

"Can I hold her after she's burped?" Hazel asks.

"Of course."

A whistle makes us all turn our heads towards the hall. "How are my girls doin'?" Negan walks into the infirmary. He looks over at the wives. "You three are still here?"

They don't answer him and I don't think he really was expecting them to.

"Why don't you ladies make yourselves scarce?"

"But I didn't get to hold the baby yet." Hazel complains.

"You can hold her later. Maybe," Negan tells her, before pointing to Amber, "And you? I'm gonna need to smell your breath, before you so much as hold her pacifier."

Amber leaves the room, most likely on the verge of tears.

Danica gets up. "Come on, Hazel," She smile over at me, "We'll come back later."

"Okay." I'm sad to see the girls go. I'm going to be here for at least another day and I don't want Negan to be my only company. I'd actually prefer no company as an alternative.

The baby lets out a little burp and while I have something over her shoulder, I can feel warm spit up. I fix her, while also trying to keep the spit up from running down the cloth and to my back.

"Give her here."

I glance at Negan's outstretched arms, before snapping my eyes up at him. "No, I've got it."

He chuckles. "Your tits are out and your trying to keep spit up from sliding down you," He waves his fingers, "Come on, hand her over."

I sigh, reluctantly letting him lean down and take her. I remove the burp cloth and quickly get my gown secured. "Okay, you can hand her back to me now."

"Nah, I've got her." He sits down in the chair.

"Well, she's needs to get some rest," I insist, "She had the girls all over her, so I want her back in the basket, so she can sleep in peace."

Negan's eyes don't mind me. "I'll put her down in a minute."

I feel irked that he isn't doing it right this minute. "You have to hold her a certain way, or she'll-

"She's fine, Nan," Negan sharply assures me, "Why don't you get some rest yourself? You gotta be pretty sore after this little cutie tore your tulips on the way out."

I peer down at my baby being softly bounced in Negan's arms. "She likes her bottom patted."

Negan rolls his eyes, but begins a patting motion underneath her. "Happy?" _No_.

I lie back on the bed, fixing my pillow behind my head. I watch him with her, quietly unnerved. Negan holds my daughter, bundled in a white blanket, delicately ushering her back to sleep.

 **...**

"You ever see a baby more good lookin' than this little bundle of joy? " He rhetorically asks the doctor, smiling down at his infant daughter all nice and snug in his arms. She's absolutely perfect. Healthy as a horse and cute as a fuckin' button.

The leader looks up, but finds her mother has fallen asleep. Poor thing, she's really worn the fuck out. She still looks beautiful though. He shushes the baby under his breath as she makes a small squawk for no reason. Maybe even more beautiful than she was before.

He takes back all the shit he thought about her from before. Any name he called her, untrue and not meant at all. And he's not angry at her anymore. Everything she's done or said; wiped clean off the slate. Alls forgiven as far he's concerned. How could he bare any animosity towards the mother of his child?

He'll make it up to her. Do something nice for her to prove he's willing to make amends, if she is.

Someone knocks on the doorframe to the infirmary, making him roll his eyes. "I thought I fucking said no one was to come up here?"

"You weren't answering the radio."

"That's because I fuckin' turned it off, so it wouldn't wake the baby," The leader looks over at his bookkeeper, "What the hell do you want?"

"Uh, I just got word back from the bullet factory."

"And?"

"Well, it wasn't from Eugene."

"Then who the fuck was it?"

The bookkeeper scratches his head. "Your wives want to come back to the Sanctuary."

"Smarty Pants isn't getting fresh with 'em, is he?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so. I think they're just bored; I guess Eugene's not really utilizing their services."

"Well, tell them they can..." The leader pauses as his eyes travel to the mother in the hospital bed, "...Tell them that if they really want to come home, they can."

The bookkeeper puzzles his brows, almost surprised. "You want me to send someone to go get them?"

"That I do," The leader replies, "Tell them to have their shit packed before Keller gets there."

"Okay, will do."

"While you're at it, I need you to do me a little favor."

"Sure, what is it?"

The leader lays his foot across his knee, comforting the baby who wiggles because of the movement. He smirks at her little pouted lip. "You know what? Never mind, I'll do it myself."

"Okay," The bookkeeper goes to leave but halts, "Oh, these are for her." He holds up a small basket that's covered with a napkin.

"What is it?"

 **...**

I wake up from the nap I didn't intentionally take, staring at the empty chair. As my senses all come back to me, I suddenly panic and rise up. "Where's-"

"She's right here."

I turn my head to find Harlan with the laundry basket on his desk. I sigh, relieved, then get up from the bed and pad over in my cozy socks. I look inside my makeshift bed, which turned out not to be so stupid after all, and see her resting soundly. I exhale again and smile, despite the soreness I feel below.

"Where's Negan?"

"He left a little while ago to take care of some things."

"What?"

"He didn't say and I didn't feel I was at liberty to ask."

"Oh...okay," I stretch my arms, yawning, "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two hours."

I nod my head, sniffing the aroma in the air. "What smells so good?"

"Oh, Reed came by earlier and left those for you," Harlan points to the basket on the end table that I missed, "The workers in the baking station made you some muffins."

"Oh."

I go over to the table and peel the napkin back, unveiling about seven or so muffins. They smell divine. I can tell some are blueberry, which means someone must have brought in blueberries from the wild blueberry bushes that are probably four miles out, while the others smell like a cinnamon streusel with oats.

"Negan ate one before he left."

"I wouldn't put it past him," I take the basket in my hand, "Would you like one?"

"Sure," Harlan smiles from his desk, "Who am I to turn down fresh baked goods?"

I smile softly as I offer him his pick. "It was really nice of them to make these for me."

"Well, I suppose maybe they were returning the favor."

I look at him, before setting the basket down to go to the bathroom. In the bathroom, I get a good look at myself, postpartum. I should probably fix my hair a little after I pee. I wince a little at the sting of urine coming into contact with my sutures. After flushing and washing my hands, I take my hair down from my only hair tie and refix it in a quick bun.

As I exit the bathroom, I smile brightly. "Hey, handsome."

Hal glances over to me as he stands by Harlan's desk and the basket. "Hey, gorgeous!" He looks down at the basket. "Or should I call her that now?"

I snicker, coming over. "I was wondering when you'd be by."

"Sorry, I wanted to come first thing when Negan made the announcement, but I had work to do."

"Alright, I'll let it slide," I take his arm in mine, resting my chin on his shoulder, "Do you wanna hold her?"

"Definitely."

I chuckle, patting his chest. "Go wash your hands."

Hal goes to the bathroom to wash up.

I carefully pick her up from the comfy bed. "Sh, it's okay... I'm right here."

Her knitting brows unfurl as she eases back to sleep.

Hal dries his hands as he leaves the bathroom. He sits down in the chair and I slowly hand her to him. "She's heavy."

"Eight pounds, seven ounces."

"Bloody hell, how'd you manage that?"

"Barely," I bring the muffin basket over to the bed, "Do you want a muffin? The workers made them for me."

"That was nice of 'em."

"Yeah," I take a blueberry muffin and sit, "Sorry I asked you to leave last night."

"Don't sweat it, love," Hal smiles at the baby, "You looked in bad shape for company."

I bite into the muffin. "It was a long night."

"That's what I heard," He replies, "How long you here?"

"Harlan said I can leave tomorrow."

"Upstairs?"

"...Yeah."

"Too bad."

I twist my mouth to the side. "Yeah."

"Think you'll get to come down often?"

"I don't know," I honestly say, "The baby, probably not until she's older. And me? Not often, if I have to take care of the baby."

"Shame."

"Yeah, but maybe it's not so bad," I drop the muffin paper in the basket and grab a cinnamon, "For the baby, I mean. I don't want her catching anything down there."

Hal nods his head. "She's lovely."

"Thank you."

"And, eh, look at that; she's a strawberry blonde."

I smile meekly. "I know."

I get what he's implying, but I don't have the energy or heart to disappoint him.

"Has she opened her eyes yet?"

"Yeah, she's opened them a few times."

Hal's smile widens down at her. "What a big yawn!" He chuckles, utterly in love. "I can't believe you're a mother, Nan."

"I know, it's so surreal," My smile hurts my cheeks, "I keep thinking I'm gonna wake any minute and be back in the quarters."

"I could pinch you, if you'd like, but this ain't no dream, Mum."

I snicker as I chew my muffin. I swallow, "Hey, Hal?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you?"

He looks up at me, knowing what I mean. He gives me a nod. "I'll be alright."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, love."

I nod, glad to hear it. "Okay."

"What's her name?"

My eyes move up when they see movement and my already diminishing my smile goes along with my easy demeanor. Hal looks up when I don't answer right away.

"You're awake." Negan comes casually strolling in.

I don't reply verbally, I just nod my head.

Negan's eyes turn on Hal in the chair with the baby. "How's the armory looking?"

"Good," Hal answers promptly, "We might not have what did before they raided the outposts, but we should still outnumber them, three to one."

"That's what I like to hear," Negan looks him over, "Did you wash your hands before you picked my baby up?"

"Yes, he did." I reply for Hal, protective.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Negan says, smiling at me, "I see you got the gift basket from your little pals down in the quarters."

I scowl at him, not amused.

"I should go," Hal stands up, "I'm famished, so I'm gonna go make some supper."

I flick my eyes to him as he approaches me with the baby, slightly devastated. "Okay."

"I'll come by again tomorrow," He hands me the baby, "I promise."

"In the morning."

"Yeah, alright." He goes to brush some hair behind me ear, so that he can likely kiss my temple, but he hesitates and decides better of it. "Night."

"Goodnight." I watch him go, before I peer over at Negan moving about the room.

"Are you stepping out on me, Nan?" He asks me. "Found yourself a new beau?"

"Hal's my friend," I bring my leg under the other, "But even if he was more than that, it wouldn't matter, because it'd be none of your business."

"Oh, really?" He grins.

"Yes," I curtly retort, "I'm not your wife."

Negan chuckles as he plants himself in the chair, propping his feet up on the bed. "I gotta say, darlin', motherhood becomes you. I like this fiery ass attitude of yours."

I breathe through my nose, gazing down at the baby. "I'd like it if you took me serious for once, instead of laughing everything off."

"Jesus, take it easy, Nan," He tells me, still humored, "It was a goddamn compliment. Lighten the fuck up."

"My life isn't a joke." I stare up at him, adamant, but brief. "I don't appreciate being told that I'm cute when I'm angry."

Negan drops his smile and I can't feel him staring at me.

Frustrated and tired, I exhale. "Just forget it, I don't have the energy to talk to a brick wall."

He taps his finger on the armrest. "I've got dinner coming in fifteen," He says after a second, "You might want to feed the baby before they get here."

"It's almost been three hours," The doctor reminds us that he's in the room, "That might be a good idea."

I nod my head, shifting to the side, so that I can have some privacy as I undo my gown. "Where were you?"

"Taking care of some shit."

I look over my shoulder. "Did you make an announcement to the factory about the baby being born?"

His dark hazel eyes meet mine. "I did."

I turn my head forward. "Why did you do that?"

"Because a baby was born today and I am damn fucking proud that it was my daughter."

My baby exhales out her nose as she suckles, causing me to glance down at her.

"You might not be happy, but people sometimes need to news like that," He adds, "Especially when it's more common to see death than it is to see the alternative."

I wiggle my nose. "You should've asked me first."

"I don't need your permission and if I had asked, you would've said no."

"Yeah, because I want my baby to just be my daughter and not the pride of the Sanctuary."

"You mean, you don't want people thinking she's mine."

I don't answer.

Negan scoffs under his breath. "Well, she is mine and there's no denying it now. You know it and I know it."

 **...**

The baby slept pretty well through the night, waking up three times to be changed and fed. Each time, she'd cry and Negan would wake up before I could quiet her down. Part of me is surprised that he continued to sleep in that chair, despite it looking not at all comfortable, while the other part of me expected no less. He's not going to be far from this prized possession. He kept leaving during the day, but never for long and never without giving me his word that he'd be right back. I don't think I've ever seen him annoyed about being the leader until now.

We didn't talk much before, during, or after dinner. We only talked when was necessary, like when he said he'd hold the baby while I ate, since she started crying in the middle of the meal, or when I said told him I'd take her after I was done eating. He offered to put her in the basket when I was done with a midnight feeding and I let him, because I was still half- asleep.

He went to take another shower in the morning when Harlan came in. Throughout the day, Negan comes and goes in the same fashion as yesterday. I don't really care; Harlan told me yesterday that I could leave by the late afternoon, since there's been no issues or turns in the baby's health, or mine.

Hal came by in the morning to see me like he promised and the wives brought me breakfast soon after. Danica asked me if I wanted to go take a shower, while they watched the baby, but I said I'd wait, not comfortable with leaving her.

While I know I'm going to hate going back to the top floor, where I'll return to essentially being a prisoner, I must admit that I am looking forward to it a little. It'll be nice to have some space to myself and the baby that isn't an infirmary. Though it'll be hard, I imagine, not having Harlan as a buffer between Negan and I. I'm sure he's secretly eager to get Negan out of his hair.

Someone knocks on the door around three o'clock. I look up from the nursing break I had to take in the middle of packing what little I had in the infirmary. I'm both surprised and displeased to see who it is.

"Can I come in?" She asks from the doorway.

 _No_. I glance her over, before nodding curtly.

Laura steps into the infirmary, acknowledging the doctor, before shyly looking down at the tupperware container in her hands. "Uh, the workers made you some cookies," She awkwardly extends it my way, "I told Reed I'd bring 'em to you."

I signal for her to put them on the bed, since I'm holding the baby. "Thanks."

"It's weird," She dryly chuckles, "A few weeks ago, they were calling you a social-climbing whore and now they...admire you, or something."

I just look at her plainly.

Laura clears her throat, obviously reading the room. "Um, so...how is everything?"

"I'm sure Negan already told you," I return to my baby, "He told the whole factory."

"Yeah..." She stands a few feet from the bed without her cool air. "She looks healthy."

"She is."

She scratches her nose ring. "I heard you almost had to have a c-section."

"Almost."

"Scary," Laura breathes, "I can't imagine."

"Well, it didn't happen."

"No, but it's still scary to think about."

I look over at her, furrowing my brows.

She clears her throat again, reaching into the pocket of her cargo pants. "Um, can I sit down?"

I nod my head.

Laura sits in the chair, leaning forward. "I, uh, saved this for you when Negan had us clean out Dwight's room."

Before she can even unwrap it, I know what it is. I accidentally left it in the room when I packed, forgetting that it wasn't in my trunk. I reach over and take the wooden duck that Dwight had carved for the baby from Laura's hand.

"I figured you'd want it."

I look at the block, feeling a little forlorn. "Thank you."

"Sure." She nods, looking down at her smoothing hands. "Congratulations. I meant to say that before."

I set the duck on the bed. "Thanks."

"Are you packing to head up?"

"Yes."

Laura nods again. "Will you be alright?"

I huff acridly. "Since when do you care?"

"I care."

"Yeah, well, you have a funny way of showing it." I lay the baby against me when she's done.

"What would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have betrayed Dwight."

She scoffs, "No, of course not, you were his...girlfriend, or whatever, but I-"

"You were his friend," I retort, "I was your friend and you sold us both down the river."

"No, I was trying to protect you," Laura argues, "Dwight was helping Rick. He told me that night that the Saviors had to fall, that Negan had to die."

I stubbornly refuse to look her way.

"He said Rick wanted us to give up and compromise, but how can Dwight, how can _we_ , trust anything they say when they've done what they've done to us already? To our people in the outposts?"

I chuckle a little below my breath. "Come on, Laura," I meet her eyes. "Don't act like we didn't have it coming. That those people don't have a reason to fight us."

She stares, before she licks her lips. "We saved them from-"

"Stop," I tell her, "Just stop."

The baby lets out a good burp, so I cradle her in my arms to pat her to sleep.

"You don't believe in that all crap Negan says," I continue, "Not really."

"Yes, I do," She insists, "Ever since he took lead of this place, things started looking up...getting better. He gave us something to strive for, something worth fighting for."

"And all you have to do is take and kill for him," I add with an incredulous eye roll, "Pretend like you believe that people deserve to live like this."

"Life-"

"Isn't fair?" I knit my brows at her. "Is that what you were going to say?"

She closes her lips, which answers my question.

I scoff, humored by her insolence. "No, you're right; Life isn't fair."

Laura turns away, bullheaded.

"But we're not talking about life, like it's a deck of cards and some people are just dealt a bad hand. We're talking about deliberate injustice, so that a few people can live comfortably. We're talking about people being forced to work and toil for one man out of fear of being killed. For Negan. And you and every Savior in this place can call yourselves Negan, if you need to feel like you matter, but at the end of the day, you don't. Know why? Because Negan doesn't care if you die, so long as he's the Negan that makes it through; you other Negans can all paved the road for him."

Her eyes fall to her hands again.

"But I understand," I go on, growing tired, "He's better than whoever was in charge before. Better than Simon. But the thing is, just because someone came in and made life better, doesn't mean we owe them our lives and our silence. Our humanity."

Laura doesn't respond. She doesn't move at all.

I look her over. "You're a better person than most Saviors, Laura. You actually give a shit about people."

"I thought I was a terrible friend?"

"You are, but I know you've been taking care of Marisol all these months."

Her eyes pick up.

"I know it's been you," I tell her, "I figured it had something to do with a rumor I heard a while ago."

"Oh, yeah?" She arches her brow as her eyes snap to the floor. "What rumor would that be?"

"That you got pregnant after sleeping with Simon and then got sick after you took the morning after pill after he closed the door in your face."

Laura scoffs, but I can tell I struck a nerve. It makes me feel ashamed for being so cold in tone. She sniffs, brushing the back of her hand under her nose.

"It was just a stupid, one time thing," She reveals, "I wasn't even attracted to him, but I got drunk and we...fucked." Laura lifts her head, looking me square in the eye. "I was never planning on keeping it, because I knew I would have to do it alone and I because I was afraid of what would happen if I ended up dying, but, uh..." Her eyes glances up towards the ceiling, slightly glossed, "I thought I'd let him know anyway and he just...told me I was making the right choice."

I listen, never really seeing her so raw, yet still before.

"So, I did took the pill, got sicker than a fucking dog, and then moved on after I got better. There's no crying at the Sanctuary."

"Still, it must have hurt to be treated that way."

"Yeah, well, I-"

"Nan?"

Both Laura and I look over towards the door. I smile in happy surprise. "Hi!"

Frankie and Tonya come into the room with excited steps, almost running. "Oh my god!" Tonya gushes, putting her hand to her chest, "I thought I told you to hold the baby in until we got back?"

I chuckle, accepting her one armed hug. "I tried. What are you doing here? I thought you two weren't coming back until the fifth?"

"We weren't supposed to, but we wanted to come home early, so we radioed back to home base and Negan said we could."

"Oh," I say, shocked, "Well, I'm glad."

"Look at her," Frankie awes, "She looks like a little sweetheart."

"Does she open her eyes?" Tonya asks me. "Oh, what color are they?"

"They're-"

"They're gonna be blue, dummy," Frankie rolls her eyes, "All babies are born with blue eyes at first."

"Oh."

"Well, actually, her eyes-"

"Can I hold her?" Frankie smiles softly.

"Uh, yeah, of course."

"Okay." Frankie sits down on the bed, eager. Her smile brightens as I start to hand her the baby.

"Did you wash your hands?"

We look over. Of course. Why did I think he wouldn't be close behind?

"You never know what you can pick up in a dirty ass bullet factory," Negan leans on the doorframe, "Especially with Gabe livin' there, coughing all over the damn place."

"Oh," I bring the baby back to me, "Yeah, you should probably wash your hands first."

"Of course, sorry!" Frankie gets up and both her and Tonya go to the bathroom.

My eyes find Negan's and they're scolding. I forgot in the mild excitement, but I don't need him tsk-tsking me like I'm a bad mother. I sigh, redirecting to Laura, who I remembered was in the room. But, the chair's empty; she's gone. I didn't see her slip out.

"Okay," Frankie steps out of the bathroom, "Hands and arms are clean and ready for baby holding."

I blink from the empty chair, smiling at her as she sits back down. I delicately trade the baby over to her, making sure the blanket is nice and secure under her mitted hands.

"Oh, wow, what a little butterball," Frankie chuckles softly as she cradles the baby, "How much does she weigh?"

"Eight pounds, seven ounces."

"Aw, that doesn't sound like an early baby to me," She coos towards my sleeping daughter, "You're not missing meals, are you?"

I smile at hers and Tonya's fawning. After a few minutes, she hands the baby over to Tonya, who just smiles down at her.

"What's her name?"

 **...**

The baby cries loudly as I change her. Poor thing's probably cold, considering how frigid it is in here. When she's clean, I don't put another diaper on her just yet, instead I wrap her naked body in the blanket that Frankie had made her, and then hold her to me.

"It's okay, don't cry." I soothe her, bouncing my knees gently while I pat her bottom.

We left the infirmary around four. It was bittersweet, like I thought it would be, but Harlan said he'd come up in the morning to see how the baby was doing. Frankie and Tonya finished helping me get things in order, while I finally changed out of my hospital gown and into the clothes that I wore to the infirmary when I had first gone into labor. It's so strange to think that it was only a day ago. It's also oddly sad to know that my baby is already a day old.

I'm glad that Frankie and Tonya came back when they did, because it made the climb back up, less uncomfortable. Negan offered to carry the pack and the baby on the way there. I, being both protective and spiteful, said that I could carry the baby myself. It proved to be rougher than I thought, seeing how my sutures caused a lot of discomfort every time I had to take the stairs, but I chose to be prideful and let him carry the pack and the laundry basket that I insisted on taking. The baby can lay in it when she's not in our room.

I took my meal in my room, eating with my plate on the bed. I wanted so badly to take a shower, but reluctant to leave the baby, so I left the bathroom door open, where I could keep an eye on her while the wives looked in on her in the laundry basket they placed on the sofa in the drawing room. She cried and Negan came out of his room, where he had gone to change, and got her not two minutes after I started the water, but it was only because she was due for another feeding. I think I would've lost it, if he had disappeared from my sight with her. I vowed not shower again, opening the door to the shower and reaching for my towel, before he came into the bathroom with her.

Right now, I'm waiting for Hazel to bring me some warm water in a little dish bucket we're using as a bath for now. I want to bathe her up before bed. With one hand, I drop the little cream- colored onesie that Negan had packed in the backpack in the hamper.

The half-closed door opens as Hazel steps gingerly in with the white, rectangular bucket. "Where do you want it?"

"There," I motion to the changing table, "I think I'm just gonna give her a sponge bath."

"Alright," Hazel sets down, "There." She wipes her hands down her dress. "You need anything else?"

"No, I'm..." I trail off when the door creaks open more. Guess who?

"Get out."

Hazel obeys swiftly, hurrying around him and closing the door almost completely behind her.

I look at him, but only for a moment, before I carry the baby over the table. I lay her down and unwrap, which makes her cry even more.

"It's okay." There's some soft rags folded in the drawer under the table, so I get one and dunk it into the warm water. Negan appears at my elbow. "I don't need any help."

"Sure about that?"

"Positive."

"Hm, well, you've got a blanket under her, instead of a towel, but hey, mother knows best."

My eyes traipse the cream and emerald stripes of the blanket. It doesn't really matter.

"You want me to get a towel?"

I bite tongue. "Please."

He chuckles. "Sure thing, darlin'."

"Don't call me that." I rasp inaudibly as I lift the baby off the blanket, so that I can remove it.

Negan returns, laying a soft peach colored towel that he got from my side of the room down on the padded table. "There we go."

I stifle a thank you, placing the baby back on down. She wails harder, after trying to calm down when she was being held. I shush her as I wring out the cloth.

Negan's hand soothes her foot. "Damn, she is pissed."

I run the wet cloth over her soft skin with care, continuing to hush my child. "You can go to bed, if you want."

"Thanks for the permission, but I'm staying."

"Two people don't need to bathe her."

"Two people aren't fucking bathing her," He bickers back, "You're bathing her, I'm taking notes."

My brows furrow and I side glance him. "Notes on what?"

"On how to fuckin' bathe her."

"Oh, well, no need, I'll bathe her when she needs to be bathed," I tell him, "That's what I'm here for."

"No, you're here to be a mother," He argues, "But I'm her father and I don't fuckin' intend on standing idly by, either."

My nostrils flare as I breathe and I continue bathing her in silence. There was a bottle of baby shampoo three quarters of the way empty on the stand, so I use a sparing amount to wash her. She settles down after a little while, apparently liking the warm water.

I start to dry her off, smiling when her eyes begin to open. I fold the towel across her, picking her up. "Hi, you."

Her dark hazel eyes stare up, trying to focus.

"Are you awake?" I hold her close to me.

The baby appears to look right at me, or what she can see of me and it makes me smile even more. I snicker and then set her down, so I can dress her for bed, almost forgetting that Negan's in the room.

"I'll take her, while you get change."

"I'm not changing."

"Well, then quit being such a baby hog," Negan moves on in and takes her up,"Let Daddy hold her for a spell."

I feel at a crossroad here, because as much as I want to pry her from his hands, I also don't want to frighten her, or cause him to drop her. I just watch him carry her around the room. He is being gentle with her.

I huff under my breath, deciding to prepare her crib. "I want her crib moved tomorrow morning."

Negan doesn't hear me, too focused on the baby in his arms. "Look at those eyes," He smiles at her, "What a little angel."

I lay the blanket over the crib side. "The crib's ready for her."

He brings her over, still swooning. He gives her to me and I have to rock her a little, until she falls back asleep. I then lay her down in the crib, swaddled snugly.

"She's perfect."

I gaze down at her, inwardly agreeing.

"I'm proud of you," Negan says beside me, "Just so you know."

I turn my head and so does he. Our eyes meet.

"It takes a shit load of guts to make the kind of call you did."

My eyes travel back to the baby. "I'm sure other mothers would have made the same choice."

"Still, it's a fucking choice I wouldn't ask of anyone."

I breathe. "Well, it's no matter; it didn't have to happen."

"It does matter," Negan says, "And I appreciate it."

"It wasn't for you, it was for her."

"I know, that's why I appreciate it," His words make me look over, "The sentiment of it, anyway."

I scan his eyes, before nodding mildly.

"But I'm glad it didn't turn out that way."

My lips come together and I hold my elbows as I walk across the room. "Goodnight, Negan."

"Goodnight, darlin'," He says back, "And welcome home, Lucille."

I pause as I pull back my blanket. "Don't call her that."

"That's her name."

"No, it's not," I turn my body, "I never agreed to that."

"Don't have to," Negan tells me, "But it's on her birth certificate. Paper makes it official."

"You mean that chart Harlan wrote up when she was born?" I scoff, "That's not a birth certificate. There isn't even a last name, or...our names."

"Well, like I said," He grins, "It's official."

"No, it's not."

"It is if I fuckin' say it is."

"Well, I'm not calling her that."

Negan chuckles below his breath. "Well then, what the fuck are you gonna call her?"

My eyes blink to the crib where I can make out my sleeping daughter from behind the wooden bars. "Birdie."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **I apologize for the delay, but there was a wildfire near where I live and I had to evacuate for the night.**

 **Unfortunately, I didn't have the time or internet to respond to any questions or comments, but if anyone has any questions regarding SY that they would like answered promptly, feel free to PM me.**

 **Hope you all enjoyed!**


	62. Birdie

"Birdie?" Negan scoffs, "What kind of stupid fucking name is that?"

"I like it," I tell him, blinking from the quiet crib, "And it's what I've decided to call her."

"Well, call her that all you fucking want, but it's not her name."

"Same goes for you."

He chuckles, "I think you forget who runs the show around here."

"This is different," I say, keeping my voice down, "We're not talking about the Sanctuary, we're talking about my daughter."

" _Our_ daughter."

I stare at him through the dark and he stares back. I turn away, continuing to get ready for bed. "Goodnight."

Negan's footsteps make there way to the door. "Sleep tight. Don't let the rotters bite," As he starts to leave, he reaches into his pocket, "Oh, I almost forgot."

I sit on the bed, waiting for whatever it is he has to say.

Instead, he pulls out what looks like a white walkie-talkie. "We got this from the outpost when I had 'em bring back all the nursery shit."

"What is it?"

"It's a baby monitor, what the fuck's it look like?" Negan turns the knob on the top and a little red light suddenly goes on. He then goes back over to the nursery side of the room, where he sets the device on the dresser. "I have the other one on my nightstand."

"Why do you need it?" I inquire, knitting my brows. "I'm right here."

"Sound mind," Negan looks over at me, "Don't turn it off."

I bring my lips together, uncontrollably scowling, before I shift over to the wall, bringing the blanket up to my shoulder.

Negan snickers under his breath as he walks back to the door. "Sweet dreams, ladies."

The door shuts, darkening the room completely. I wait for the sound of the lock, but it doesn't come.

 **...**

I wake up around eight the next morning. Whenever I wake up that late, it always feels like I've slept half the day away, but I'm still exhausted from the past couple days. Luckily, Birdie hasn't woken up yet, so it gives me enough time to go to the bathroom before I get her up to feed her.

Breakfast smells like it arrived an hour ago, but it still smells good. I pad gently back to my room when I hear chatter, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I just want some time alone with my baby, before we have to enter the world.

I tiptoe over to the crib and find her eyes closed, as she lay lightly swaddled. She's a dream. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I brought her into this world. That this little innocent being that grew inside me for all those months is part of me. That _I'm_ a mother, her mother, and she has innate and utter trust in me.

It's hard to imagine that I can provide comfort to her, simply by holding her in my arms. It's all so surreal, but in the best way. I've never felt like this before. It's like I'm tired, but so filled with joy, while also being tender and mild and patient. The word 'blissful' keeps circling my head. I feel blissful.

I pick her up with care and it's then that she starts to wiggle and wake.

"Good morning!" I greet her with a light heart and soft tone, "Are you up?" Birdie's eyes open. "Did you sleep alright?"

I smile at her lovely eyes as I carry her over to the changing table. After putting her in a fresh diaper, I take Birdie over to the rocking chair. A few minutes later, the door opens.

"Nan?"

"Yeah?"

Frankie stands in the door. "The kitchen crew should be up soon to clean up breakfast," She says, "You want me to save you something?"

"Just some toast and oatmeal, please."

"Sure, you got it."

"Thanks."

"Of course," Frankie's eyes glance down at Birdie and smiles, "I'll come back in a few minutes."

"Okay," I rest my elbow on the armrest, "Oh, hey?"

"Yeah?" She turns her head.

I chew my lip. "Um, where's Negan?"

"In the shower," She answers, "He woke up late, so he just now got in the shower."

"Oh, okay. I thought maybe I heard his door close." I check on Birdie, making sure she doesn't have milk streaming down her face, but I can feel Frankie still staring.

"...You want me to get him for you?"

"No, that's okay," I shake my head, "I was just wondering."

"Oh...okay."

I look up as she walks out of the room. I was only asking, because I thought he would've come by now to check on the baby. I think he may have come in last night during a midnight feeding, but I kept nodding off, so I'm not sure.

When I've nursed Birdie from both breasts, I pat her back over my shoulder. My eyes wander to the crib up against the wall. I rock lightly when she's burped a few good times. I smile at her eyes that appear to grow heavier by the second. After she's been asleep for five minutes, I rise and lay her in the crib.

I tuck some hair behind my ear, before I go back to my side of the room to find my socks that I kicked off under my blankets last night. My feet feel like icicles. As tempting as it is to lay back down and go back to sleep for a little while longer, I put my socks back on my feet and tread towards the door. I take a quick peek over to the crib, before exiting to the dining room.

As I lightly bring the door to a near close, the door to the bathroom opens. Steam rolls out, followed by Negan in fresh clothes and wet hair. I look over at him and his eyes meet mine as soon as he shuts the bathroom door.

"Morning."

"Morning."

"Hungry?" Negan asks as he walks down the hall, slicking his hair back, "I had the girls delay the workers from coming up on schedule, so you could eat."

"I was just about to go in now," My eyes slink back to the door, "She just went back to sleep."

"Good," He grins, "It'll give us time to have breakfast. Just the two of us."

"Actually, I was just going to take it back to my room."

"Nah, sit in the dining room," Negan pats my back as we walk, "She's not going anywhere."

"I know, but I-"

"She's safe and sound asleep, so fucking relax for a minute and eat at the grown ups table. Get plenty to eat, so you can replenish those titties for our growing girl."

My cheeks heat up in frustration as we go into the dining room together. Frankie's already got me a bowl of oatmeal made, as well as four slices of toast on a small plate next to it. Unfortunately, she habitually set it all at my usual place at the table.

Still, I sit down where the food is, too tired to be childish and scoot myself down a chair. Negan pulls back his chair at the head of the table, where, as always, his plate is already made as well.

"How'd you sleep?" He asks causally, pouring powdered creamer into his mug of coffee.

I watch the clumps plunk into his cup and slowly melt into a strange film, until he mixes it in with a spoon. Powdered creamer was the kind of thing workers put in their coffee, because they couldn't afford a dollop of milk or actual smooth creamer.

"Hello?"

I snap out of it. "What?"

"How did you sleep last night?" He repeats.

"Oh...fine, I guess." I look down at my bowl of oatmeal. There's blueberries and slivered almonds in the middle, but not too much. Not as much as there use to be.

"Something wrong?"

"No." I pick up my glass of water and gulp it down, parched. I then take a piece of toast and my butter knife and scrape on a layer of what looks like marmalade.

I avoid eye contact with Negan. Meals with him were never easy, but the tension is definitely up a notch now. I, like usual, am just waiting for him to open his mouth, knowing that it's futile to wish he wouldn't.

Negan sets down his coffee and then clears his throat. "How'd Lucille sleep?"

I peer over at him, scowling with my eyes. _That was intentional._ I swallow my oatmeal. "You should know, you have that baby monitor in your room."

"Yeah, well, unless she cries, I don't know fuck all."

"She slept fine," I dig at my oatmeal, "I thought you'd be by first thing."

"I was," Negan leans back for a moment, "When I went to take a leak early this morning, but you two were out, so I didn't come in."

I puzzle my brows. "Oh."

"Did she eat?"

I twist my mouth, turning my spoon this way and that way.

"Earth to Nan," Negan whistles like a cuckoo clock, "Come in, Nan."

I exhale through my nose, before taking a spoonful of my oatmeal. "Doesn't she always when she wakes up?"

He chuckles at my tone. "I'm sorry to have missed it."

"Harlan said he'd be up to check on her." I move on, trying to keep myself composed.

"Mhm," He nods, "I won't be here when he comes. I gotta make sure shit's coming together for the big day."

I shrug my shoulder. "I can manage on my own."

"Atta girl," He cuts his eggs, "Did you-"

"All of her needs were met, before I got her to sleep," I curtly say, "I know you wouldn't think so, but I am more than capable of being a good mother without you asking me if I fed her or not."

Negan looks up. "I don't think you're a bad mother."

I glance his way.

"I'm just trying to be a good dad."

My eyes travel down as I consider what he says.

"But then again, you did say you had a lousy mom, so maybe I'm just making sure the apple fell far from the fucking tree."

I abruptly stand up, wholly offended. "Fuck you."

Negan takes my arm. "Sit down."

"Let go, don't touch me."

"Sit down, Nan," He says again, but more solemn, "Now."

I break free from his grasp. "How dare you say that to me? How dare you use that against me?"

"Simmer down; I'm not accusing you of being a lousy mom."

"No, but you're gonna hold that over my head, aren't you?" I glare down at him. "What little I told you?"

He peers up at me. "I-"

"You know, if I knew anything about you, any vulnerability, I could be just as cruel and stick you with it," I go on, sitting back down in a huff, "I could, but I wouldn't. Because I'm not like you."

Negan continues to look at me as I angrily carry on with my breakfast. He finally lets out a breath. "I'm sorry if I...upset you."

I scoff in response, not believing him.

"You've done a fine ass job of taking care of Lucille," He adds, "I'm sorry if what I said was a little harsh."

"I'm not my mother."

"I know."

"How do you know?" I look at him again with a raised brow. "You didn't know my mother."

"Maybe not, but I know you."

I huff, "You don't know me."

"Sure I fucking do."

"Right."

Negan chuckles, but doesn't taunt me further with anything more, like he'd normally do.

After a few more minutes, I finally calm down. This is why I don't dine with Negan. He always finds some way of getting a rise out of me. His apology seemed to sound genuine, but you never know with him.

"You didn't lock the door last night." I speak after a while, "Did you know that?"

"Yes, I did," Negan answers me, "Did you think I forgot to, or something?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

"Well, I didn't," He tells me, "I'm not locking you in anymore."

"Out of trust, or realization of it being dangerous?"

"It's a step," He glances over as he tips back his coffee, "To show that I trust that you won't run off in the middle of the night with a newborn and for you to prove that you can be trusted."

I nod my head, though not in agreement.

"We're gonna have to start somewhere, you and I," Negan claims, "If we're gonna raise Lucille together."

"I thought 'Daddy' called the shots?"

"Daddy does call the fuckin' shots," He confirms, "And right now, Daddy wants to rebuild everything we talked about before."

"That was a lie," I take a drink of my water, "Everything you said to me then was a lie. A ploy to get me back into bed with you."

"No, it wasn't," He adamantly argues, "I meant what I said and I still stand by it."

"So long as I behave and do what you say."

"Everyone has to do what I say," Negan smirks a little, "Everyone has to follow the program."

I don't reply, except resting my back on the back of the chair.

"But I'm willing to work with you to rebuild common ground."

"We never had common ground," I remind him, "And we never will."

"Don't be so sure."

I set my spoon down on the table. "I am sure. We can't have common ground when you have power over me."

Negan shifts his jaw to each side, before sticking his tongue in his cheek.

"Let's just drop it," I eat some more of my breakfast, "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Negan looks into his coffee, nodding without a word.

"Do I still need Amber to chaperone me?"

"Not unless you plan on going some place you shouldn't." His eyes flicker to mine as I turn my head. He raises his brows. "Where you planning on going?"

"Nowhere," I reply, untruthful, "I just thought I'd go for a walk later, if I'm up for it."

"You should rest," Negan sternly suggests, "It's gotta be painful to walk around with a stitched up-"

"It's actually more painful for me to sit, so I'll be fine to walk later on."

"Where?"

"Nowhere."

"You've lost your fucking marbles, if you think you're no longer banned from the factory floor."

I scratch my thumb. "I only want to see my friend."

"She's working."

"She's pregnant with twins," I say, "I just want to see how she's doing."

"Marisol is perfectly fine," Negan reports nonchalantly, "The doctor said she should come to full term late December, early January."

"You inquired about her?"

"I talked to her and the doctor, yes."

I look him over, curious. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to know how she was getting along," He chews, "I asked after her after we put Simon on the fence."

I heave through my nose. "You wanted to see if she was resentful?"

"I wanted to ensure she was fine," He corrects me, "You got all those fucking cramps when you were stressed out, I figured I oughta check on her after I got rid of that asshole...considering her little situation."

"She wasn't upset, I'm sure," I converse, "Not after what happened the night before."

Negan's eyes set on me. "What happened?"

"He threatened her," I answer, "I think she said it was implied towards the twins."

"Motherfucker." Negan growls under his breath.

I breathe, glancing down at the blueberry on top of my mound of mush. "So, I can't see her?"

"No."

I swallow, "Can I go see Dwight?"

Negan lets out a laugh. "I'd sooner fucking let you pass Lucille around in the quarters, before I'd let you go see Dwight," He smiles my way, "That asshole doesn't get visitors."

"But I...I have to see him."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"It's out of the question," Negan firmly tells me, "As is taking the baby off this floor."

"I have to talk to him."

"About what?"

I'm hesitant to tell him. I fight back tears from rising up. But, Negan's scrutinizing gaze scans my face and I notice the corners of his mouth tip up so slightly.

"Oh," He nods his head slowly, "You wanna tell him the news."

I don't confirm, or deny it.

Negan's eyes move over me. "Well, you'll be happy to know that I already took care of that for you."

My eyes snap up. "W-what?"

"Yep, did so the day before yesterday," Negan reveals, no amount of shame, "I went down when you were sleeping, asked him what I'm sure want to know, and then let him have it."

"Why?" I ask, sounding breathless. "Why would you do that?"

"To settle shit."

I get up from the table. I don't say anymore as I exit the dining room, leaving Negan alone. I open the door to my bedroom and shut it promptly behind me.

 **...**

The library is as quiet as it usually is. I walk in with the book that Hazel had brought me in the infirmary when I was still in labor. Lillian's reading at her desk with a cup of tea by her.

I knock on the doorframe. "Hi."

She turns her head. "Hello."

"How are you?"

"I'm well," She tells me, "How's the baby?"

"She's great," I close my hands together, "I wanted to bring her down, but I'm not allowed."

"I heard she's quite a beauty."

"Oh, yeah?"

"My daughter and that twit who likes the comics told me."

"Oh," I smile, "I came to bring this book back. I didn't read it, but I'm returning it anyway."

"Not a fan of Eliot?"

"No, I'm just not up for reading something that dense right now," I set the book down on her cart, "I'm glad to see you're well."

"Who's the father?" She asks me in her way.

I look at her, smile dwindling. "She's really healthy. The doctor came by a few hours ago. She's got my hair color, or at least what I had when I was little."

"Hm," Lillian nods, "And what did you name her?"

"Birdie."

"I was told her name was Lucille," She informs me, "You refused that name?"

"I...am fighting against it."

"I see."

I inhale and exhale, looking around. "I guess he's taken a lot from me already, that I didn't think there was anything left, until he said that her name was Lucille."

"It's a nice enough name." Lillian says, turning a page.

I scoff, "Yeah, but it's got a bad reputation."

"He doesn't feel that way."

"No, of course not," My eyes wander the shelves, "He thinks it's an honor, or something."

"Maybe it is." She takes a sip from her tea.

"Well, not to me. Not to the rest of the world," I stop on a book of poetry, "I'm not gonna call her that."

"I look forward to seeing her one day."

I smile as I flip through the book. "Me, too."

"I'm sure after all is done and over with in two days, he'll be less strict."

My mouth falls again and I look over to her.

"Do you want to check that book out?"

"Maybe," I look down at it, "I...I don't know."

"Would you like to sit down?" Lillian inquires. "I have enough water for one more cup."

"Oh, I don't know," I close the book, "I should probably head back. I don't want the baby to be left alone for too long."

"She's sleeping, yes?"

"Yes, but-"

"She'll be fine for ten more minutes without you," She beckons me over, "And she isn't alone."

"But..."

"Dear, trust me, she'll be alright," Lillian gets into the drawer of her desk, "It's you that's anxious."

I sit down in the chair on the other side. I let her pour me some tea in the second cup she fished out from her drawer. My eyes follow the stream as it dances upward into the atmosphere. When I look back to Lillian sliding the cup over to me. Her eyes appear light and unreserved. I smile and accept the tea.

Without warning, Lillian subtly takes my hand in hers and holds it as she continues to read her book. I'm not sure what brought this on and I may never know, but it makes me realize that I want my hand to be held, so I relax the rest of my arm.

 **...**

"Rock her."

"No, she likes to be bounced."

"How the hell can she fall asleep like that?"

"Never mind how, she just likes it."

"Don't forget to pat her. I've seen Nan do that and it seems to work."

"Shh," The redheaded wife lightly bounces in her knees as she tries to calm the crying infant, "It's okay. It's okay."

"Maybe she's hungry."

"No, Nan just fed her before she left," Another wife puts her hands on her hips, "Maybe she needs to be changed."

The redhead shakes her head. "I checked, she's dry."

"Um...maybe...maybe she's gassy."

"I'm pretty sure Nan burped her."

"Well, that doesn't mean she can't have gas," One wife approaches the redhead and the crying baby, "Feel her tummy to see if it's hard."

"Is it?"

"...Yes, I think so."

"Oh," She softly plants a sympathetic kiss on the baby's temple, "You poor thing."

The door to the top closes. "I think Nan's back." The meek blonde says from the loveseat.

"Thank god," The one next to her sighs, "She'll be able to-"

"What the fuck is going on here?"

All five heads turn to the entrance as each of the women nearly jump at the growling question from their shared, de facto husband. He doesn't appear happy to see them with the baby, despite the evidence of them attempting to quiet her down.

"Well?"

"Birdie's crying," The one holding the baby points out the obvious, "Danica thinks she might have gas."

"Where's Nan?"

"She went to the library to return a book."

"Why didn't one of you do it for her?" He asks, walking into the room.

"Because she wanted the exercise, that's why," The redhead bravely retorts, "She said she would be right back."

"Huh, well, next time; do her a fuckin' favor," The leader says with his humor slowly returning, "She did after all just have a baby."

She scoffs. "What are we? Her maids now?"

"If I ask you to be," He saucily wags his head at her as he starts to scoop the baby up, "She's got a full time job now, which is more than any of you can fuckin' say, so be a friend and help a girl out every once and a fucking while."

"You're putting her on a pedestal for having a baby?" One of his other wives arches her brow.

" _My_ baby and I don't know if I'd say she's on a pedestal, but she sure as fuck has scored some major points in my book."

"Is that all it takes?" She asks sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Sure fuckin' is," He takes the baby in one arm, "What's the matter, darlin'? Did these hens piss you off?"

The leader treads out of the room with scant regard of how angry he made his wives. He goes into his room, where he intends on calming the baby down. When close, he sets his bat down on the leather sofa.

"Shh," He bounces her, swaying a little as well, "You're alright, don't cry."

The baby continues to wail.

"I know, honey," He tries to soothe his inconsolable daughter, as he lays her against his chest to try and burp her, "I know it hurts, but you're tough; you'll pull through. Daddy's little badass can handle anything."

His efforts seem to be in vain, as the little girl still cries.

"Come on, Lucille," The leader continues to pat the baby's back, "You're gonna be just fine, baby."

His eyes start to tear up all of the sudden and he licks his lips as he glances down towards the sofa. The bat lays there where he had placed it, while the baby cries in discomfort in his ear. This abrupt rise of emotion is coming at bad fucking timing. He pats his daughter's back some more, trying to get it together and stop being a pussy.

"Jesus, where the fuck is she?" He exhales under his breath. "Huh? Where the hell's your mother?"

He doesn't know how to make her stop crying. In the short time that he's been a father, he hasn't been alone with her when she was fussy. Her mother's been pretty damn adamant that she can do it all. He confidently, or perhaps arrogantly, thought he could do the same, if not better.

The leader sits down on the leather sofa, still patting his daughter's back, hoping she'll get some relief. "It's okay, Lu."

There it is again. His throat aches a little, so he clears it. _Suck it the fuck up._ The baby cries a little louder and he sighs, not being of any help.

A figure moves into the doorway, catching immediate attention. Oh, thank god. The baby's mother stands a few feet away from them.

 **...**

I stare at him there on the leather sofa, holding Birdie. Her distressing cry makes me angry. Not at her, of course, but at Negan.

"Well, look who's home?"

"What are you doing?" I demand to know.

"What's it fucking look like?" Negan retorts. "I'm caring for our daughter, since you decided to have a little me time."

I march into the room. I take the baby from him, holding her to me, before I practically storm out. I carry Birdie to our room. Flustered, I kick the door shut behind me.

"Sh, it's okay," I bounce slightly, patting her back and kissing her, "Mommy's here."

I begin to hum a little song as I calm her, progressing into singing a random line here or there under breath. It seems to work; her crying is becoming more a fussy whimpering.

Tonya came and got me from the library about fifteen minutes in to tea to tell me that the baby had woken up and they couldn't get her back to sleep, as well as Danica thinking she might have gas. She also told me that Negan came in and took Birdie from Frankie, traveling to his bedroom with her. Informing me that Birdie was crying was enough to get me to stand up without hesitation, but knowing that Negan carried her into his room put me on a warpath.

"You were only waiting for this moment to arrive."

The door opens and so I go into a hum again, not turning around to acknowledge him.

"Is she settling down?"

"Yes." I briefly say as I feel little gas bubbles against my hand.

"Good," Negan replies, "...Listen, Nan, about that 'me time' thing; I was just joking."

"No, you weren't," I quietly murmur, "Just like you weren't joking about that quip about my mother."

"You may recall that I fucking apologized for that this morning and I said I thought you were a good mother."

I don't say anything, because I know as soon as I get on his bad side, he'll pull that out from under me like a rug.

"You got the baby calm," He adds, walking into the room, "I'd be lying to you, if I said I wasn't a little fuckin' ass hurt about it."

I huff below my breath. "I'm her mother. She knows me and my voice the most."

"Yeah..." Negan strolls past us and over to the crib, spinning the mobile.

"I want the crib moved."

He looks our way, puzzling his brows. "What?"

"I want the crib moved from that wall," I repeat, softly patting the baby, "I don't want it there."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want her to have to listen to what goes on on the other side," I frankly explain, "Which is also why I don't her in your room."

Negan scoffs. "Excuse me?"

"I don't want her in there," I make clear, "I don't want her on any of that furniture."

His eyes search mine. "You're fucking serious?"

"I am," I flatly claim, "I used to be your wife, I know what goes on in there and I don't want her in there."

"For fuck sake, Anna, the fucking room gets cleaned every other day."

"I don't care. I don't want her in your room and don't call me Anna," I pack Birdie around the room, easing her back to sleep, "Besides, it's hardly about how clean it is, so much as it is the principal."

Birdie shifts in my arms, so I situate into a cradled position to make her more comfortable. Negan doesn't ask what exact principal I'm talking about, but I suspect that he possibly already knows what I'm implying. If so, then good; I hope he thinks about the way he treats his wives and how it could affect his daughter in the long run.

I smile down at my daughter as she slips under to sleep, letting out a few more little alleviating toots. I'm as surprised as Negan is at how good I am at being a mom. I half-expected to be twisting in the wind without Harlan by my bedside, but so far, I'm doing pretty well.

"Sh, it's okay," I delicately whisper to her knitted brows, "Go back to sleep, Birdie."

Negan rolls his eyes, which I don't actually see, but can tell that's he's done so, by the way he moves his head. "Jesus, where did you even come up with a fuckin' name like that?"

I shrug, glancing at my daughter. "I don't know, it just came to me after she was born."

"It sounds like a fucking old lady's name."

"So does Lucille."

He huffs, looking over at the crib from where he leans on the dresser.

I turn around, still cradling my baby. "It means something to me."

"What?"

"Hope." I tell him, smiling again at her.

Negan grunts. "Huh."

I shift back around, so that I can finally take her to the crib. "Look, you might think it's a stupid name, but at least I'm not naming her after a baseball bat."

"She's a more than a bat," He comes over to the crib, obviously irked, "She's a-"

"She's a bat, Negan," I interject with a sigh, "She's a bat you kill people with." I look his way. "No, you do more than that. You obliterate them...until Lucille's coated in blood, and tissue, and matter. Until there's no one left to recognize."

Negan dark stares at me, but I don't break. I don't see a bit of guilt in his eyes and I would hardly expect to.

"I've seen the pictures," I go on, glancing back down at Birdie, "I've seen what you've done with Lucille. Everyone has, so surely you can understand why I wouldn't want my daughter to bear the same name as your 'best girl'."

With that said, I tread over to the other side of the room to my bed. I feel a sudden veil of sleepiness drop over me.

"I'm gonna lie down for a while."

Negan stands by the crib for a moment more. I can feel his eyes on me as I kick off my shoes with my back to him. He then, miraculously, walks out of the room without a word, or a slam of the door to express anger. It sounds like he goes back to his room with the soft rumble of the double doors coming together.

 **...**

He sinks his teeth in, biting through stale bread and wet dog food. It's disgusting, but he's hungry enough not to care. Besides, if he drinks a little water after each bite, it's not so bad; makes it go down easier.

The man sighs as he chews. The day is approaching soon. When the plan will be executed, along with the people he unknowingly misled. On his birthday, if that's not funny, or twisted. He really tried to help them, to right a few wrongs and to put an end to Negan. To actually save people...to save her and the baby.

He almost regrets not taking off with them when he had the chance. She wanted to leave, but he said it was a bad idea, and it would've been, but right now he's willing to entertain any dream of it being possible. Any scenario where she and the baby wouldn't have to be Negan's wards. If he's being honest with himself, part of his reluctance came from that doglike conditioning that taught him to be afraid of running away after getting his nose rubbed in it the first time.

The scraping of footsteps gets his attention. Whoever's there stands for a while, making a divide in the light that shows from under the door.

The man's brows start to gather when, all of the sudden, little thin disks slide into his cell from the opening. At a closer glance, he discovers that they're cookies. Three little chocolate chip cookies that have most likely been frozen, so the owner can either prolong the packaged expiration date, or otherwise harden them up, so they can pretend they aren't stale, or soft with air moisture.

"I have to get rid of them." A voice says.

The man listens, but makes no move towards the old Chips Ahoy.

"Hopefully, it'll cleanse the palette of dog food, eh?"

"Fuck you."

She laughs a little, but not without remorse in her cadence. "Maybe that was in poor taste...no pun intended."

"What do you want?" He asks.

"...Nothing. I was just getting rid of these cookies before they go bad."

"Thanks," The man dryly huffs, "Have a good night."

"...I heard what Negan said to you yesterday."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," The woman confirms, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure."

"It was a dick move."

"Careful." He warns in a wry rasp.

"Maybe he doesn't know what he's talking about."

The man scoffs, remembering what that asshole told him a day or so ago and the kick he got out of rubbing it pride in his voice. He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

 **...**

The rest of the day was oddly quiet. Well, it wasn't odd because it was quiet; it's typically quiet up top when Negan's not sucking the air out of room and I suppose it'll be even more quiet now that there's a sleeping baby. I guess I should say that it felt unusual. It could have been the exchange I had with Negan, or rather the less than climatic result. But it also could have been the peculiar, annoying nag of guilt.

After dinner, the wives went to the drawing room. Tonya asked I was going to bring the baby in and sit for a while, so I agreed to. They all really adore her. Babies always get fawned over in general, but it makes me smile to see how much they coo over my daughter. Even Amber's interested and she's usually in the corner like a scolded puppy.

She almost drew back to the corner when she asked if she could hold the baby. Before I had time to answer, Negan asked her how much wine she had at dinner and to walk a straight line for him, which was hypocritical, considering he said all that while pouring his third glass of scotch. The other two, he practically pounded back at dinner in silence.

I could smell a little wine on her breath, but could tell that she clearly wasn't drunk, or even tipsy for that matter, so I overrode his authority and carefully handed her the baby. He didn't say anything, which was unusual, but I inwardly defied him to.

When the wives retired for the night, I prepared Birdie to go back to our room. I watched curiously as Negan stood up from the barstool. I thought he would stumble or stagger, but he didn't. I could see that he was a little off, but I'm not so sure that it had anything to do with the alcohol. Whatever the reason, I was leery of letting him carry her, so I moved swiftly, before the notion was ever expressed by him.

I fed and changed her one more time before putting her to bed. I then changed into the same thing I wore to and back from the infirmary and get into bed to read for a little while. But, I end up reading until midnight and after having enough of the aching from where my sutures are, I decided to get into the shower. I really wanted a bath, but Harlan warned me about taking baths until my sutures dissolve, so I settle.

While in the shower, I think about Dwight, because he's always on my mind lately and because I was reminded of when we stood in the shower together the night he returned. Not only do I feel somewhat bad about how biting I was with Negan this afternoon, bizarre, I know, I also carry a tremendous knot of guilt that I didn't have Dwight's baby.

There's no point in denying that Birdie is Negan's daughter. They have the same eyes. I thought I could hold onto hope before she had opened her eyes, expecting her eyes to be a neutral blue like most babies, but they weren't. When she opened her eyes for the first time, I recognized them.

What's more is her blood type. When we told the Harlan our blood types, he didn't bat an eye. I'm B positive and Negan's AB positive. I wanted to ask Dwight what his was, but apparently Negan took it upon himself to ask himself. When Harlan came in the morning to check on her, I told him what Dwight's blood type was and asked how likely it would be that we could have had a child with an A positive blood type. I was disappointed by the answer.

I wonder how he took the news that Negan laid on him. No doubt Negan was boastful, like he won. I'm desperate to know, but I'm also afraid he'll withdrawal his love of me. What's he got of mine to hold onto, if the baby isn't his? _Stop_.

The whole floor is asleep. I swear I can hear crickets outside. I glance towards the door...It could be really easy to just sneak down to the cells and see for myself. I want to check on him anyway. But what would happen if Negan caught me? He could hurt Dwight, or take Birdie from me.

I fight with myself under the stream for some time, before I turn off the water. Fuck it, I'm going. Negan's not going to take my daughter away. He's not going to give up the package deal he selfishly wanted so badly.

I towel off as quickly as I can and dress. My clothes partially cling to my half -wet body. I dry the ends of my hair, before finger combing it all back. I put my socks on, figuring my footsteps will be close to silent. Once I'm completely dressed, I take a deep breath, preparing myself to do this.

But, before I can move an inch on my mission, my eyes look up as I hear the baby cry. I sigh, extinguished, closing my eyes. Of course. I shuffle towards the door, tired and on my way to care for my child.

"Oh, Birdie, Mommy's-" I stop mid-sentence upon seeing Negan in the very dim corner of the room.

He sits in the rocking chair with his leg resting on his other knee with the baby in his arms. He rocks slowly, back and forth, patting Birdie's bundled bottom.

"Hey." I say, a little unsettled.

"Sh," He shushes me, "She's quieting down; it was my fault, I came in to check on her and I fucking woke her up."

"She might want to be fed."

"Maybe, but I think she's gassy again," Negan says with an odd casualness, "She's farting on me."

My mouth tips up a smidge. "I can take her."

"No, I've got her."

I breathe, before going over to the little vanity where my comb is. So much for sneaking out. I run the comb through my wet hair, unsure of what else to do. My cheeks redden a little when I realize that my shirt isn't just wet from my shower, but also because my breasts leaked a little. It must have been from when Birdie started crying. I always thought that was a myth, but apparently it's true. It's not the first time it's happened since I've given birth.

"She's so beautiful."

My eyes blink towards their direction. "Yeah."

"An absolute beauty," He adds, sounding tired as well as awed, "I love her."

I nod my head. "Me, too."

"It's fuckin' weird, isn't it?" Negan goes on. "That you can just instantly love someone the moment you lay eyes on them."

"...Yeah."

"I didn't know I could love like that," He continues to peer at his daughter, "At least not anymore anyway."

I furrow my brows, setting my comb down. "What do you mean?"

"Look at you, Lucille," Negan talks to her, apparently not listening to me, "Three days old and you got your old man wrapped, you little asshole."

I scratch my thumb. "Negan, about her name. I-"

"You know, Nan, I've been thinking," He tells me without moving his gaze, "Maybe we can come to a compromise. I know you think we can't be civil adults and find some common ground, but I'm sure as fuck willing to, if you'll work with me."

I don't reply, I only turn my head to look at him, still puzzled.

His face is relaxed, but he seems to fluctuate between a smile and being solemn. "Her name stays Lucille. That's final...but I'm not opposed to nicknames. You can call her Birdie, if you want. Hell, it's sort of growing on me anyway."

Negan carefully stands up from the rocking chair, carrying Birdie over to the crib, where he lays her. His hand brushes over her head. He then straightens up and turns off the light by the dresser.

"I'll move the crib in the morning."

"Okay." I rasp.

"Night, Nan."

"...Goodnight."

* * *

 **Hope you all enjoy! Thanks for Reading!**

 **PruRose: Negan's being pretty adamant about Birdie's formal/actual name being Lucille, unfortunately. Nan's still willing to fight him on it though...Glad you liked the moments with her and the baby!**

 **Moorish Woe: Yes, Birdie is Negan's flesh and blood daughter. I know, it's really troubling for Nan as well to wrap her head around having Negan father her child, whom she loves ardently. Yeah, Jane almost was Birdie's name, but I've been whirling both names around for a while and I just kept coming back to loving the name Birdie. I think it's sweet and cute. Jane will, however, likely be her middle name.**

 **CLTex: I know, I think most of us are a little bummed that Birdie isn't Dwight's child, but I felt that Negan sort of needed this win, or will need it in long run as a growing tool, if that makes sense. I love the name Birdie, I'm glad you like it, too! The workers are so team Nan now lol.**


	63. The Day Before Tomorrow

_I claw into the grave wall, caking the dark earth beneath my pained fingernails as I hoist myself up a few inches further. How I'm able to find places in the dirt for my feet to boost me up, I have no idea, but I'm almost at the top. My limbs burn, but I don't care; I have to get to that crying bundle._

 _"Keep going," My loved one below encourages, "Lucter et Emergo."_

 _I would say something back if my throat wasn't dry as a desert, as well as a little ticklish from the dust I've managed to breathe in while climbing._

 _"I'm proud of you."_

 _Keep going, I repeat in my head. Just keep going. I make a noise that sounds like a grunted whine as I struggle up more and more. I can no longer hear the crying bundle, which would heighten my sense of urgency, if I didn't know in my core that she's still up there. Her and the man that holds her. And the man that is out among the trees...and the bird that I can now hear above. They're all up there; life is up there and I want to be there, too._

 _"Keep going." He says again._

 _I shut my eyes tight as I climb, reaching my hand up for the next patch of dirt. But, instead of damp, deep earth, my hand is met with a flat surface. My eyes open and I look up. I made it._

 _I pull myself up with my last bit of strength. Once I've got one arm up on the upper ground, I kick my right leg into the wall and hike my whole body out of the grave. Just like that, half of me is out. When my knee touches the surface, I crawl all the way out. On my hands and knees, I pant; out of breath and full of lung burning victory. Lucter et Emergo._

 **...**

My eyes open plainly. Usually, my body would start from that dream, trying to get away from it, but not today. I just opened my eyes and was met with the bright white ceiling that somehow seemed brighter this morning than it ever has. But that could be because the bedroom door is open and from the hallway, light has flooded in from what I guess must be the windows from the drawing room. One of the girls must have gone in and drawn back the curtains.

The light looks soft and cold like most winter mornings here. I wonder if it's foggy out. I've always loved fog in the morning, better than I like clear spring mornings. My brows start to gather as my mind wanders back to where the light is coming from. Who opened the door?

I move my head against my pillow and when my eyes set on the other side of the room, I have my answer. Negan, much like he never left, is sitting in the rocking chair like he was last night, ever so carefully rocking back and forward with the toes in his boot, and with Birdie bundled in a white blanket that was brought here in the crib.

I didn't hear her cry, so why has he come in? I don't ask what I'm thinking. I just lay there in bewilderment, and if I'm being totally honest, unnerved intrigue. It isn't that he's holding her that unsettles me; what it is, I can't quite put my foot on it, but there's something there that's got a hold of me.

His eyes appear to be transfixed on the baby in his arms. What he's thinking, if he's thinking at all, I could never guess, but his mouth is peaked a little in the corners. It isn't until I move one of my legs, simply in need of being stretched, that he seems to notice that he and our daughter are not the only two people in existence in this room.

"Morning." He greets.

"Morning," I say back with a raspy voice, "Did she wake up?"

"No, she didn't," Negan shakes his head, looking back at her, "I just came in for a little quality time."

I nod slightly, touching a hand to my chest, where my other rests. I can feel the ache down below, where my tearing was, but it's not as bad as it was two days ago, it's just uncomfortable.

"Today's the day," Negan says, still fixed on Birdie, "The day before tomorrow."

I feel sadness under my face, though my expression doesn't change much.

"Tomorrow, it all goes to this little angel."

"What does?"

"The future," He answers, not taking his gaze off her, "It's all hers, just like I promised."

My eyes fall on Birdie. _The future..._

As if her little ears were burning, she makes a whimper in Negan's arms. He smiles into his eyes as she starts to wake. "Well, hello there."

Birdie begins to cry, so Negan pats her bottom while he stands up from the chair. He hushes her while he walks over to the changing table. I lay there in bed, still, as I observe him continue to shush and talk to her as he changes her wet diaper. She isn't too happy, probably about waking up in the arms of someone who isn't me, as well as then being put down when she wants to be held. I don't want to toot my horn, but ever since we left the infirmary, Birdie's been pretty picky about who holds her and she always seems to pick me.

"Well, if you'd stop pissing yourself, I wouldn't have to put you down to change you, you fussy little shit," Negan tell her with a chuckle, before he gently picks her back up, "Alright, alright, I'll take you to the buffet."

As he turns to bring her over, I push myself up in bed. I take my arm out of my shirtsleeve and maneuver it, so that I can undress my left breast, which is usually the first one I feed her from.

"Alright," Negan eases her my way, "I'm givin' you to your mama."

I take her from him, smiling at her scrunched up little face. "Good morning," I hold her close, "Sh, don't cry, I'm here."

Right before I get her to latch on, I swear her crying stops almost completely. Like she heard my voice and knew that I had her. I brush a tear from her cheek as she suckles with her eyes peacefully closed.

"What a Kodak moment." Negan says, being smart.

I look up and immediately feel my cheeks color. I tug some my shirt closer to Birdie, in vain hopes of hiding my exposed breast. I never thought of covering, until now, but then again I didn't think nursing my child was a peep show.

He chuckles. "No need to cover up on my account," He has a seat on my bed, "Tickles my balls proud to see my baby being fed and nurtured by her _lovely_ mother."

I look him over, before sighing as I turn back to Birdie. "Are you gonna move the crib like you said you would?"

"Tonight." Negan confirms, "When I get back."

I nod my head. "Alright."

He continues to look between me and the baby. "You know, I meant what I said last night about working with you."

"So long as I agree with you," I softly talk back, "Once I try to put my foot down, you'll remind me who I'm talking to."

Negan turns his head, no doubt pissed that I'm heavily skeptical. "If you'd fuckin' cooperate with me, I wouldn't have to be the bad guy."

"That's why we'll never have common ground," I peer up and he looks at me, "You always blame me for your choices on how you treat me and I can't sit idly by, while you teach my only child to laugh at other's despair."

He doesn't look pleased, but his eyes travel down to the baby at my breast.

"All I want is for Birdie to be happy and safe." I add, caringly switching her over to my other.

Negan goes to argue, but he sighs instead. "Yeah, me, too."

I know he desperately wants to "explain" to me that that's what all this is for. That he keeps people safe and will keep Birdie safe, the whole spiel. But something, good sense, I hope, stops him.

After Birdie lets go of my nipple, belly full of warm milk, she hiccups before opening her eyes. My smile beams. "Do you have hiccups?"

The corners of her lips tip up in reflex, displaying cute little dimples in her sweet cheeks, before she hiccups again in response, making us both laugh. I lay her upright against me and pat her back to burp her and hopefully take care of those pesky hiccups. After a few minutes, she burps and spits up on me.

"Here." Negan extends his arms.

Though I'd rather not, I still hand her to him, so I can change my shirt. I throw one on with my back towards my bed, struggling to get my arms in the right holes; hastily eager to get back to the baby. Especially since I can hear her getting fussy.

"You shut your milk hole," Negan lightly teases, "Daddy's got you."

I turn and tread back to the bed to sit where I was. "I can take her."

"You know, I'm all for favoritism," He hands me the baby back, "Except when I'm not the fuckin' favorite."

I shush Birdie and she pretty much settles back down immediately. "There, there."

"Fucking bullshit." Negan curses, but in good humor, when he sees that she's consoled.

A smile forms on my face, patting her bottom, almost ignoring the door creaking open.

"The workers are on their way up with breakfast." Tonya informs us. She doesn't stick around long enough to suffer some callous words, or orders to get out by Negan.

I watch Lucille's eyes start to loll back to sleep, though she's definitely fighting it.

Negan stands up, aimlessly pacing to the other side of the room. "You gonna eat with us after you've got Lucille down?"

My smile begins to lessen, but I nod.

"Still fighting me on that name, huh?" Negan asks me, twirling the mobile once with his finger. "Even though I said I would meet you halfway with Birdie?"

"I just don't think it's an appropriate name," I tell him, not at all harshly, "Given its reputation."

Negan's eyes look on me with a long expression.

"Why can't she just be named Birdie?" I ask. "It's a good name; you said so yourself that you liked it, so why can't that be her name?"

"Because I said so." He simply answers.

I sigh in disappointment through my nose, lowering my head to my child. "Of course, how silly of me." I reach around to prop my pillow behind so I can lean back a little while I hold Birdie. From the corner of my eye, Negan sits down in the rocking chair with a frustrated exhale.

"I had a wife before all this."

 _What?_ This immediately draws my attention to him and the dismal look on his face.

His eyes meet mine. "A real wife," He reveals, "The only real wife I've ever had."

I just look at him from across the room, waiting for him to go on, in utter shock that doesn't surface to my face completely.

Negan scoffs to himself, glancing off towards nothing on the ceiling. "I never realized it, except in the end, that she was my everything. That she was stronger than me and that I relied on her to get me through life."

My patting hand slows down as I listen, as if it'll help me hear better.

"But I didn't give her shit in return, not until it was too late anyway," He takes a quiet, yet deep breath inward, "I cheated on her with every woman who I could get into bed. Mostly co-workers and some woman that lived down the street, who was her fucking friend. And then I'd lied to her face about where I was, knowing well enough she didn't believe me and knowing well enough that I didn't care."

I sit in melancholy resonance, though feeling as if he's only mirroring what I told him about Charlie and I for a good laugh. But he remains sober as a nun.

"I wasn't good to her, but she still loved me for whatever goddamn reason, I'll never fucking know. She was always there when I needed her; always the rock in our marriage."

"What happened to her?"

Negan's eyes look from the floor and connect with mine. "Brain cancer," He answers me, swallowing hard, "She'd been getting all these migraines and then one day, she was busting my balls and then she just fell to the ground and started having a seizure."

Negan sniffs his nose up, trying to hide a break in his face. "Boy, you should've seen that catscan; the inside of her head looked like Swiss cheese," He sighs, still attempting to keep his composure, "She went through more treatments and surgeries than is fair for one body to have to go through, but she never cried after the first day of being diagnosed. Hell, she always told me to stop being a pussy and to quit embarrassing her whenever I'd lose it."

My eyes begin to ache and I think Negan sees it, because he averts his gaze.

"She died right when all hell was breaking loose," He goes on, "In the hospital...and when she turned, I couldn't put her down."

I look sadly down at my baby, who's gone to sleep in my arms.

"Some stranger did it for me." Negan says, ashamed.

"You judged me for doing the same thing with Charlie." I croak, tears pooling into my eyes.

"I know," He nods his head, "And, for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry."

I sniff, brushing the one escaped tear. "What was her name?"

"Lucille."

"You named that bat after your wife?"

"That bat got me through all this," He explains, a little irked, "So, yes, I named it after her. I spent a lot of time alone, before I came here."

"So did I," I remind him, "But I didn't replace Charlie with my can opener."

"You relied on yourself to get by and you were doing a shitty job at it," Negan makes clears of the difference that's hardly that, "And I didn't replace Lucille; that bat only shares her namesake."

"Same as our daughter." I huff, shaking my head.

"Right," Negan nods again in the rocking chair, "Maybe that's in an effort to redeem the name; change the "bad reputation" you fuckin' keep harping about."

My brows knit at that.

"I love a bad bitch and Lucille is fuckin' badass, but I can understand you wanting our daughter to have a name that doesn't put the image of crushed heads to mind," He looks off again, "Not all Lucille's are bad; my wife was the best woman, shit, the best _person_ I ever knew."

A second later, the door to the private floor opens outside and footsteps and the clunking of the cart with more delicate clinking of the pitcher and plates on top of it can be heard coming through.

Negan stands up with a groan. "Is she asleep?"

"Yes."

He comes over and picks her up, taking her over to the crib. He kisses her forehead, before placing her in her bed. I hear him faintly say something to her as he places the knitted blanket up to her chin. He then goes to the dresser and takes something bulky and silver off it that I hadn't noticed until now.

Negan then shifts around and we meet eyes. "Are you gonna get out of bed?"

I nod my head. "Mhm."

He nods in response, before he treads out of the room and before I can ask what it was he took off the dresser.

"What's on the menu today, ladies?" He asks the two workers, back in his usual tone and manner.

I look over to my sleeping daughter in her crib.

 **...**

The factory is filled to the brim with busy work. It seems like every floor below has people coming and going in preparation for the ambush and consequent end of the war. Voices crackle in the radios on belts, asking for confirmation and giving confirmation. The smell of exhaust can be smelt from the rooftop from all the familiar vehicles rolling up to the gates.

The Sanctuary's about to be crowded with all the Saviors that left for the bullet factory and some that were sent to go restore the closer outposts. The humming of the trucks that most likely carry all the recycled bullets and guns that Eugene had taken with him are particularly bothersome to me. Just as soon as this factory will be filled with people, it'll be fairly vacant of Saviors in about a half an hour, or so.

From what I've gathered, the plan is to trap Rick, the Widow, the King, and all their people into a small valley, where they'll unknowingly be surrounded by Negan and the Saviors from the higher ground. The false correspondence that Dwight had sent to them will throw off their defenses somewhat, thinking that they are the ambushers and not the ambushed, up until that dooming moment.

I've been up on the roof for only a few minutes, just having fed Birdie and laid her down in the laundry basket for the wives to silently gush over, but I'm in mental throes. Despite having no part in what's going to happen today, I still feel like my hands will be unclean. I don't know why, maybe it's because I'm a Savior, or was anyway. Or maybe it's because I can't separate the fact that the father of my baby, and tyrannical leader, is the one orchestrating the whole massacre.

It still reels and reels in my head how it can be that Negan fathered the little girl that I have loved so dearly in the four days of her being alive. I know how it happened, I just can't wrap my mind around it happening while I was with Negan. The actual, biological process that I learned in high school, as well as from the book I borrowed from the library, puts images in my head that I wish I could block out. And, for some inexplicable reason, I've found it more important these last few days to know when it happened.

When I believed that Birdie was Dwight's, I immediately went to that time he had panicked, not knowing if he had pulled out in time, or if some of his semen had been expelled inside me while we used one another because of love lost and over kept urges. I also go back to when Sherry had run off. We had a lot of sex then, so it could've have happened then, if he had been the one who had gotten me pregnant.

But it was Negan, so I'm unsure. We also had a lot of sex, more than I detailed to anyone, so it could've happened in any one of those times. When I think about when I had morning sickness, what I now realize was morning sickness, it almost makes me want to say that it happened on our "wedding night." Or maybe that time I bent over the sink in the bathroom.

"Hey!"

A shout that sounds faint from up here causes me to blink out of my thought heavy stare and away from the open gates, over to what little I can see of the east. Whoever called out to whomever, yells something more, but it's inaudible. All I see is someone waving another over and not long after, a truck turns in that direction.

I wrap the borrowed sweater around me, before heading inside. My breath fogs out in front of me, even when I'm inside the stairwell. Back inside, I stop wincing from the pain from my sutures as I walk to the drawing room.

The girls sit in their usual business, quiet as the fire in the fireplace crackles. Birdie lay sleeping in the laundry basket on the loveseat between Frankie and Danica.

I feel so unkept as I stare at the wives. They're all polished and put together, while I'm in another pair of Frankie's lounge pants and have kept my hair up in a disheveled little bun, no matter if I've washed it or not. Then again, I did just have a baby...

"What's the matter?" Tonya asks upon seeing me.

"Nothing," I smile meekly, "I'm just tired."

"Go rest," She tells me, "We'll watch the baby."

I tread into the room towards the basket. "No, I think I'm gonna take a walk."

"With the baby?" Frankie inquires, a little surprised.

"Yes." I gently bring her up from the basket and into my arms, tapping her behind to make sure she doesn't wake.

"But you're not supposed to," Amber reminds me, nervous for some reason, "Negan said he doesn't want Birdie to leave the top floor."

"Well, I'm her mother and I say she'll be fine with me," I retort, cradling my daughter, "I'm just taking a walk."

"It's pretty busy down there," Frankie informs me, "I don't think you should go."

"I'll be out of the way."

"Maybe I should come with you." She starts to put down her knitting.

"No," I mildy insist, shaking my head down at Birdie, "I don't want anyone to get in troublecbecause of me."

"Yeah, but what if you need someone to hold Birdie?" She asks. "I know it's hard enough for you to use the stairs with your stitches. Birdie can get pretty heavy."

"Well, yes, but-"

"I'm coming with you," She stands up from the loveseat, decided, "I don't care if Negan gets pissed, alright? What's he gonna take from me? My knitting needles?"

I look her over, before nodding, as if I had a choice. "Alright."

And so we go, only stopping by her bedroom just before, so she could get a sweater. We don't talk as we go, but that's because I don't really have anything to say, anxious. I grow even uneasier when I catch eyes from those in the various hallways that have taken notice of Negan's child and I. I stifle any face or noise of pain when we descend the steps, not wanting Frankie to think I truly needed her.

When we finally reach the bottom, I stare at the gray, roaring factory floor. Workers seem to be doing their regular work, accept those who are being instructed by the Saviors. The Saviors moving all about the floor like purposed bees in preparation for what they know will be a victory. I imagine that most of them are looking forward to having their lives return to being comfortable and with a feeling power and superiority.

"The outside is probably teeming with trucks," Frankie says beside me, "We better head back, so we're not in the way."

I realize fairly quickly that she only said that because she can see Negan below, giving orders. "You can go, if you want."

"Nan?"

I turn my head, dropping my questioning brows when I see who it is.

"What are you doing down here?" Laura asks, looking rather depleted.

"How is that your business?"

She looks at Frankie and then at Birdie in my arms. "You shouldn't be down here; you'll be in everyone's way."

"I am not," I scoff, peering back out on the floor, "But if you feel really feel that way, Negan's right over there."

Laura follows my gaze and I see her eyes lower in what looks like guilt.

"Maybe we should, Nan." Frankie suggests, growing less fearless of Negan by the second.

I look at Laura. "Are you going to tell him?"

She glances back at me. "No, but if not me, someone else will."

"I'll take the risk." I go to move around her for the stairs to the floor. She takes one of my arms, stopping me very urgently. I furrow my brows, looking up at her in demand.

"He's setting up Saviors to die." She nearly whispers to me.

My brows knit more. "What?"

"He wants to throw off Rick and make him think everything's going their way," Laura rasps, "He said that means a few Saviors have to be sacrificed for the bigger picture."

I scan her reserved, albeit conflicted face. "Who? Not Hal?"

She parts her mouth to speak, but Arat suddenly materializes at her elbow. "Hey, I need your help in the armory."

Laura looks back at her. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

"No, Laur, now," Arat commands, noting me with a careless glance, "Negan wants a report in five minutes."

"Fine." Laura curtly says, returning to me, as if to tell me.

"Come on." Arat tugs her back by the arm and she reluctantly goes.

When she's out of sight, I make my way down to the floor, fixing to confront Negan about what Laura has told me.

"Nan!" Frankie follows me, trying to convince me to turn back.

I do have to take a slight breather from coming down the stairs too fast while holding Birdie, who is surprisingly heavy when it comes to scaling and descending the stairs.

"You need me to take her for a minute?"

"No," I tell Frankie, feeling sweat sliding down my warm face, "I'm fine."

I don't know why I turn my head to the right as I shift Birdie's head from one crook in my arm to the other, but I do. That's when I see Dwight coming from the hall that leads to the cells, in his boiler suit with an orange 'A' and with what looks like shackles. I forget Negan and go in this new direction. I'd run if I could.

"Dwight?" I call him, immediately getting his attention. As soon as I'm close, I embrace him with a free arm, clinging to him without squishing the baby between us.

"Hey." He greets me back with a dry throat, unable to hug me back.

I look about his face where I see he's got some fresh bruises and some blood trickling from his forehead, nostril, and corner of his mouth. It makes my breath heave out a little in fretting concern. "Are you alright? What happened?"

My eyes briefly glance at Keller, who oddly enough doesn't break us up but instead communicates with other Saviors about what truck he's riding in and what route they're suppose to take.

"I'm fine," Dwight assures me with a half-hearted smile, "Don't worry about me."

"Don't ask me not to worry," I move some strands of hair that are nearly stuck to his temple with blood, "How can I not?"

His weary smile tips up a bit, trying. "Are you being treated good?"

"Yeah, good enough."

Dwight looks down to the baby bundled in her white blanket in my arms between us. "How is she?"

He raises his cuffed hands, touching a little bump in the blanket where one of her little fists sits warmly beneath.

"She's doing great," I smile at her, "She's eats, sleeps, and poops like clockwork."

Dwight chuckles lightly. "She's beautiful."

My smile lessens. "Dwight...I-"

"I know," He softly rasps, "He told me."

I look up at him, tears gathering. "I'm...I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you myself, but he wouldn't let me come down here."

"I know," He says again, "And it's okay."

My lip quivers. "You're not upset?"

"No, of course not." Dwight shakes his head.

I sniff, "Do you- do you still love me?"

"Yes, I still love you."

"Even though she's-" I jolt suddenly at the loud bang of three or four shots from a gun. I turn to see Negan with a gun in his hand, pointing to the what looks like a sack. _What the fuck?_ I glance down as I feel squirming in my arms.

Unsurprisingly, the gunfire woke up Birdie. She wails loudly, like any baby would at such a startling noise. I shush and pat her, bouncing my knees slowly.

"Sh, I know," I soothe her, "I know it scared you." I kiss her nose. "Sorry, Dwight."

"No, it's-"

" _What_ ," Negan pronounces the word behind my back with emphasis, "The literal fuck do you think you're doing?"

I turn around with our squawking daughter.

Negan raises his brows in question, before his eyes catch Frankie beside me. "If this is your idea of chaperoning, you're doing a piss poor job."

Frankie lowers her gaze in trouble, which makes Negan smirk more, focusing back on Dwight and I.

"You made the baby cry," I chide him, "What the hell are you doing firing a gun in here?"

Negan's grin grows. "I don't think you're in any position to be scolding me, dear, because I've counted three fucking rule violations the moment I laid eyes on you."

It's a little too hard to hear what he's saying with the baby crying in my ear. "What?"

"I specifically forbade you from stepping a toe down here," He reminds me, "Especially to see this sad little nobody. But more importantly, I thought it was crystal fuckin' clear that Birdie wasn't to leave the our private floor."

I don't answer him, I just shut my mouth.

He looks over at Dwight. "Hope you enjoyed this little schmooze with my baby mama and _my_ daughter, because it won't be happening again and that's goddamn promise."

Dwight doesn't respond either, just stares at him with hatred.

"And I hope you enjoy our little field trip, because after you get to watch your friends die because of you and you're done chaining 'em up on my fences, you won't be seeing the light of fucking day for a while...Or until I need my floors moped."

I scoff, disgusted. The baby starts to settle down, but fades in and out. I think she must be picking up on my emotions.

"Load him up." He orders Keller.

I look at Dwight as Keller takes him by the sleeve. "Wait, Dwight!"

"It's okay."

"I love you!" I call, before going back to calming my baby. He's gone before he can reply.

"Now that that's all done and said," Negan continues, "Get your ass back upstairs with my baby."

I turn back towards him with burning eyes. "Why did you have to do that?"

"Because breaking the rules can hurt other people, Nanette, you know that," He retorts, peering down at his pride and joy, "As for making this little lady cry, well, that was unintentional but it's your fucking fault for bringing her down here. Now, scoot."

"I need to talk to you."

"It can wait," Negan turns to walk away, "Francine, be a doll and get your gal pal to mosey on up the stairs."

"Come on, Na-"

"No, I need to talk to _now_ , Negan." I follow after him.

"I don't know if you can tell or not, sweetheart, but I'm a little fuckin' busy."

"You can't do this," I catch up, still comforting Birdie who's no longer crying, "You can't go."

"Aw, are you worried about me?" He chuckles, spinning around.

"I worried there's no going back, if you kill all those people." I tell him.

"You're right, there is no going back," Negan answers, drawing closer, "After today, we're not gonna have anymore problems with people who wanna step a toe out of line, because no one gonna is fuck with me again."

"That's because there won't be anyone left."

"Negan." A Savior approaches us. "We're ready to roll when you are."

"Fantastic," Negan replies, which sends the Savior on his way. He then motions someone else over. "Rett, Duke."

I look my shoulder to see Rett in his shock of blue hair walk over with another man whom I've seen with him before.

Negan pulls a map out of his jacket. "This is the route you need to take. I'll be right off Boward, if you run into trouble."

Rett takes the map. "Thanks, but we don't need it," I taps his temple, "Got it all memorized, jefe."

Negan nods once. "Damn straight, you do."

Rett briefly looks at me, offering a small smile, before walking off towards the entrance.

"Fucking idiots." Negan rolls his eyes.

I blink back to him, slightly puzzled. _Oh, god._ No, it all becomes clear to me right there and I look back towards Rett, before I practically dart after him.

"Rett!" I shout after him. "Everett, wait!"

He peers over his shoulder, stopping and looking me over. "Hey, mama."

"Don't go," I warn him, patting Birdie's bottom to keep her from waking up from my outburst, "Don't go wherever Negan is sending you."

"What?" He chuckles. "We're just setting up paper dolls along escape routes."

"Please, don't go there," I plead, "Rick's people know where you're going to be there; they're going to kill you."

Rett's brows furrow, bewildered and skeptical. "What are you-"

"He's setting you up," I desperately clarify, "He's going to let you die, so that Rick will fall into his actual trap."

Everett's mouth hangs open a little ways, unsure of to say, or think of my outlandish claims about his leader.

"I'm your friend, Rett, I'm telling you-"

"Nan!" Negan barks close behind. "Get back inside and leave my men the fuck alone." His towering presence makes Rett's eyes leave mine. "They've got important shit to do."

Rett takes a final look at me and then my baby, before nodding. "Yeah."

"Rett, _please_." I beg him.

"See ya later, Nan," Rett waves with a friendly smile, "Cute kid you got there." And then he enters the front yard to catch up with his other doomed comrades.

Negan whistles. "Reed, front and center!" He scowls down at me. "I'm gonna have Reed escort you and Birdie upstairs and he's gonna check up on you every hour on the hour, until I fucking get back. Do you understand me?"

But I only look at him with a tear rolling down my cheek.

He scans my morose face, quickly looking over my head and signaling Reed over to us. "I want you to take Nan and the baby upstairs and I want you to personally check on her every hour; make sure she's sitting up in the highest room in the tallest tower, got it?"

"Copy." Reed nods, looking over with pity for my situation and resentment towards me for what I did before I ran off.

"Alright," Negan lightly claps my back, "We'll talk about your little misadventure later, when I get home."

I grab his leather sleeve. "Negan, don't do this!"

"Nan," He groans, "Let go."

"No, don't do this," I beseech, "Don't kill all those people!"

Negan takes my wrist to pry me off. "If you put me behind schedule and we miss Rick, I swear to Christ, I'll-"

"Please!" I grip him tighter, staring earnestly into his eyes for mercy. "Don't do this; you-you're better than this."

He cracks a smile, snickering at me. "You don't fucking believe that."

"I didn't, but I...I want to," I croak, honest, "I-I want to believe that you can be and-and that you're name can be redeemed, too."

Negan's brows gather and he stares, tilting his head. "What?"

"You said you wanted to redeem Lucille's name," I lick my lips, "Maybe you can do the same for yours. Everyone within a hundred mile radius knows your name and they _hate_ it; they hate _you_. But maybe if you stop this and actually try to work with Rick, you can-"

"Rick already make it abundantly clear that I'm dead either way," Negan cuts me off, "So, I think that ship sailed waaay fuckin' long ago."

"It's never too late to try."

"Trust me, it's too fucking late."

"Think about our daughter," I look down at the baby like some last ditch of effort, "About her future."

"I am."

"No, you're not," I deny, "You're thinking about yourself...about having it all and saving yourself."

Negan's dark hazel eyes scowl. "I don't have time for this shit. I've got places to go and people to kill."

" _Please_ , Negan," I hoarsely beg with tears in my eyes, "Think about Lucille...and Judith."

He lowers his gaze, as if he seemed to have forgotten about Carl's little sister.

"Our daughter can't be the only one with a future," I can feel her move in her bundle, "Otherwise there is no future."

"Negan," Laura interrupts, standing silhouette in the doorway, "We're ready to go."

Negan nods, which makes her disappear. "Reed."

"Come on, Nan." Reed's fingers graze my arm.

"Negan," As I say his name, Birdie begins to cry, "All the bad blood between us aside, I know you don't want it to be this way...I know this isn't who you wanted to be."

He stares down at me with a hint of uneasiness in his eyes and mouth.

"But if you don't stop this...I'm afraid there won't be any hope for you."

Negan breathes in, before he steps closer to Birdie and I. He goes to move some bangs from my face, but I turn my head. He could hardly be unused to that. "We'll talk when I get back."

I tear rolls down my cheek as I try to comfort my crying baby. "When you come back, there won't be anything to talk about."

He nods at my taciturn tone, petting Birdie's head. "Daddy's gotta go; behave for Mommy."

I huff through my nose, patting her.

Negan leans down and lays a kiss on her forehead, before he turns and walks out into the sun and the front of the Sanctuary.

"Negan." I call his name once more, but he doesn't turn around.

I stand there, listening to cars, trucks, and motorcycles rev up and take off through the open gates. Birdie cries in my arms, unaware of what's going on, only upset by the distressed tone of her mother's voice and the anger and conflict in her father's.

 **...**

All guns are pointed down into the valley. Those inside of it, the people who fell into the ambush, stand there looking around, Rick included. They never figured it'd turn out this way, one can imagine. Up until this point, everything was running smoothly for them. You can see the confidence train for their faces, even from where the leader stands on the top of the hill.

It tickles him to have a brilliant plan as this go accordingly. He holds his radio up to his mouth, gun pointed at the back of the head of the half-blind priest. "It never had to be fight; all you had to do was accept how things were. Now, look where we are...all thanks to you, Rick."

Every Savior takes aim.

"Three, two, one!"

All triggers are pulled. But, the pullers immediately drop their weapons, if not falling back in death or injury from the shrapnel that unload as soon as every gun was fired.

The leader holds his gloved, bleeding hand to him, having also been a victim of the backfire from his glock. What the fuck? He looks from his wounded hand and immediately locks eyes with that mullet haired bastard that's got to be responsible. He fucked with the bullets.

"You son of bitch!" The leader growls, moving towards the fat coward.

But he's blindsided by the priest, who's slugged him. He's pushed off, but then the leader is attacked a second time by the burned traitor, who beats him with his chained together fists.

The leader fights them both off, picking up his bat hitting traitor in the ribs with the handle and the priest with the sharp end. He then looks out on the people coming up the valley walls. He knows Prick is coming for him, so he makes a dash for the hills beyond the trucks.

There's no chance in hell he's gonna be beat by that asshole. Down below is a tree with two colored windows hanging from two branches on either side. He heads for that, careful not to trip and stumble down the fucking hill. As he nears the tree, a bang goes off behind him and a bullet breaks the glass of one of the windows, just missing the leader's head.

He stows behind the tree, looking back to find Rick barreling down after him with a gun in his hand. He heaves, out of breath and fuming. The leader listens to the crunching of grass and twigs under boot and waits for it to get close enough, before he rams the bat right into the man's side.

The man puts his hand over the pain, but still lifts his gun and takes aim. The leader knocks the gun askew, sending the already released bullet god knows where. He then jabs the man again, before getting punched in the temple. It causes a ringing in his ears and he falters. When the man flies ferociously at him, he fends him off, tackling him to the ground.

The two tussle in the dead leaves and damp earth, struggling to either get to the gun, or the bat. The leader gets up and sends a blunt kick to the man's ribs and then another blow to the stomach. While the man gasps, struggling to get up, he sees his Lucille in the wet grass and picks her up.

"Just so you know," He pants, "All that eenie-meenie crap was bullshit." He tells the man. "I was planning on killing you, but I made a choice; I didn't want a boy to have to see his father die." He swings the bat down to club him, but he misses as the man rolls. "But maybe I should've fuckin' killed you then. Carl might still be alive, if I had."

He goes to strike again, but the man kicks the leader hard in the shinbone just right and it brings him down on one knee. The ringing in his left ear intensifies and it makes his stomach sick.

"You're beat," The man, Rick, claims, "Your people are down and so are you."

The leader grunts, forcing himself to stand up. "I'll get out of it...I always do." He approaches Rick with a sharp pain in his right leg. "But now, it's just you and me, Rick. And you're a hell of lot worse off than I am right now."

Rick sits, holding onto where the blood stains his shirt. "We can have a future," He breathes.

"No, we can't," The leader retorts, "It's too fuckin' late for that."

"Just give me ten seconds," Rick gets to his feet, "And I can tell you how."

"No."

"Please, just ten seconds. That's all I need," He beseeches, "For Carl."

The leader cracks an incredulous grin, trying to chuckle, but not being able to. He then looks at the man who he aims to kill with his bat. For Carl...fucking cheap shot. The leader steps towards him. "Ten, nine-"

"Carl said it doesn't to be this way," Rick advocates, putting his hand up as if it'll stop him, "It doesn't have to be a fight."

"Your boy was fucking wrong," The leader pants, taking another step, "Eight."

"No," The man shakes his breathless head, "No, he was right. He was right, we-we don't have fight each other." He swallows, "We can work together...we can work towards a better future. For our people...for-for our children."

The leader halts, just before Rick. He stares at his face, wrought with suken, honest looking eyes, as his vision starts to blur with tears. While he's sure Rick doesn't know that he just became a father, a nerve is still struck.

Or rather, a note...like the ones the mother of his child use to pluck on the piano before he broke her hand. All that she had said, before and just two hours ago, resounds through him. Earlier, he had said and had believed that it was too late, not that he had ever considered it.

But now, Nan, Carl, _and_ Rick say it's not too late. We can work together? For a future? A pain wells up inside his exhausted body.

Rick's suggesting that he could live, that he could make nice and be on his way back to the Sanctuary, breathing...but he knows that means he'd have to give up everything. Everything he built, cut at the knees. Reduced to some meager slice of bread, when he used to have the whole fucking loaf.

 _"Think about our daughter."_

Fresh tears rise. For our daughter. He'd have to give up everything, but he can live and keep all the promises he made to her mother. That thing she said about there not being hope for him left rings alongside the pain in his ear. She'd have to eat those words. All he has to do agree to work with Rick...

The leader lowers his bat, still panting. What other choice does he have? He is beat and this is the only way out of it. The only way out in which he'd get to watch his daughter grow up.

Rick nods slightly, as if he understands what the leader appears to speechlessly be considering. He takes a step forward, which alerts danger in the leader's brain, but not quickly enough to his reflexes. Rick's hand is swift.

His eyes widen and all the breath drowns in his throat. He falls to his knees, clutching his throat, and feeling the hot blood spill onto his fingers. For the first time in his life, the leader can't speak, not until he holds the slit, as if trying to apply pressure.

"L-Look what you did," He splutters, choking on his own blood, "Carl didn't know a damn thing."

Last words said, he feels light headed and cold, colder than the winter surrounding. He tries to fight to stay awake, but his body sinks and then falls over onto his side. The leader's eyes begin to flutter with heaviness and he grows even more ice cold. His vision goes dark; the figure two feet away and the several on the knoll far back begin to fade. A tear runs down his nose as the last conscious, yet fleeting thought that he tries to hold onto as tightly as his own slit throat, before he can no longer keep his eyes open, is Lucille.

 **...**

The keys have a light veil of dust on them. They haven't been touched to warrant such a thin layer, they were just dusted recently. I softly touch them, after having stared at them for a full hour or so now. I stretch my fingers, curling them in and out. The finger closest to my pinky seems a little less graceful than the others, but by no means am I rendering it useless. It'll lock up, but only for a split second and only because I keep moving it the way I do. I line my fingers up in position, but I just go back to staring.

Birdie's been asleep for two hours, in another hour; she'll wake up and want to be fed again. She's in our shared room and the door is closed almost completely, except for a crack.

I press my finger down on the C note and then the B note. The wives are all lounging like mermaids in either this room on the seats, or in their rooms; combing their hair and then asking another to braid it, catnapping, or playing cards. It takes me a few tries to remember the song I hummed to Birdie on the piano, but after repeating the same first notes, I begin to play in a slower, melancholy tempo.

There's great weight in my muscles, all throughout my body, as I play. It's the sorrow I feel for all the people that are going to die today. I know only half a handful of them, but I still have to keep myself from crying just thinking about it. And it's not only the sadness I feel for all those poor souls, but also a sadness for what the Sanctuary will become when Negan comes back.

It'll be harsher, more strict and grueling. Negan will be less lenient, I know in my gut he will, because that's the only way to make sure that no smoke of resistance will ever surface again. To stamp it out, before there's ever flame. My life will be considerably easier, in most opinions, but I can't help but to lament at the loss of autonomy. And Birdie will be a jewel; a cloistered possession that I can only hold, if I keep my hands clean.

Negan says things, promises things contrary, but I know him better than he thinks and I have seldom been wrong. I tried to change his mind...I thought if I could just appeal to him on our daughter's behalf, he'd be willing to see reason, but I couldn't sway him. But how could I really? He always knows best, in his mind. He "saves" people. Saves them by killing others.

The song comes to an end and I wipe a tear from my cheek.

"That was good," Tonya praises from the bar, "Your fingers didn't stick."

"Yeah." I nod my head looking at the keys.

"Play another."

"No, I think I'm gonna go lie down for awhile."

"Okay," She says, pitifully, "Would you like something to drink? We've got a little lemonade left."

"No, I'm okay for now." I get up from the bench and walk barefoot across the hall and into my room, quiet, so I don't disturb Birdie.

I sit down at the vanity, picking up my comb and letting down my short hair from the bun. I run the comb through my hair that's a little tangled. The roaring of engines, approaching the factory catch my ear during. _He's back._

Negan said they'd be back around three, but it's nearly six in the evening. I shutter to think why they were gone for so long. I wonder how far Hilltop is from where they ambushed Rick.

My throat clenches and tears swell in my eyes, anticipating him strolling through that door. The baby makes a little sound, so I clean my face of a loose tear and look over, listening. She makes another noise, so I rise and very softly pad over to the crib. I look in, but she exhales through her nose, fast asleep.

A tear stained smile peeks up, as I continue to look at her. She's so beautiful and so innocent. I grieve for her future, where innocence will surely flicker out like a cold ember, until it's gone.

The first time she sees him punish, or kill someone who broke the rules will devastate me. I can try to make him see that she's too young for a couple of years, maybe, but eventually he'll think she's ready to learn the way of the world and it'll be out of my hands. All I can do is make it my mission to combat Negan's harsh lessons with demonstrations of how there's strength in being tender and kind.

The door to the top floor opens, somewhat abruptly. I take a deep breath as I hear determined footsteps striding this way down the hall. Though I feel like bursting to maternal tears, I don't; I put on a brave, indifferent face. I stay strong and listen to the creaking of the door opening.

"Nan?"

I turn my head; puzzled by the voice I hear say my name. His name sits on my parted lips, but I stare at him for a long minute, or two, trying to comprehend him standing there. Is this a dream? A trick of the mind, or of Negan?

He stares back, not saying anything, a little short of breath from the climb.

Finally, I manage to croak out a faint; "Dwight?"

 **...**

The people entering the room talk under their breaths, as if they were trying to be courteous and not disrupt the patient. It's easy to make out they're inquires of his health and when the doctor thinks he might be moved. He could almost scoff at how callously worded their questions are, not truly concerned of whether or not he lives or dies.

The patient regained consciousness a while ago, discovering a few minutes after he realized that he was alive that he was restrained. Not like he's in any shape to escape. He feels completely weak; he's not even sure he can move a muscle, not that he'd want to. To swallow spit down is a damn chore, but at least that choking feeling is gone.

"We know you're awake." The woman speaks to him.

He's kept his eyes closed this whole time, resting, but he offers a flinch of a smile. "I never said I wasn't."

"It's okay if you don't want to open your eyes now," She says softly, yet curtly, "But you will have to open them eventually, because we're gonna make you open them, so you can watch."

The patient opens his eyes just barely, still fighting with that lead heaviness in them. He moves them to the left side of the room, finding her and Rick behind her with his arms crossed.

"This isn't about the people you killed," Rick says, "We've killed people. This is about taking our lives back after what you've done to us, to your own people." He steps closer to the bed. "This about how you made us live; how stepped on us and made us live under your boot. How you took advantage of people."

"I save people!" The patient points a weak finger in outrage, barely able to raise his head from his pillow. He immediately settles down when the women puts a firm hand on his bandaged throat.

"Michonne." A gentler voice urges her to stop.

"He needs to know that this not up for discussion." She replies, taking her hand off him.

"If you want, we can open up your stitches, until you're ready to shut up and listen."

The patient swallows painfully, but is compliant.

"Carl had a vision," He stands over the patient, "Of all of us working together. And that's what we're gonna do. We're gonna all work together; the Sanctuary, Alexandria, Hilltop, the Kingdom...we're all gonna build something bigger than all of us. A future for ourselves and for our kids, so they can grow up and do better than we did."

The patient's mouth forms a bitter scowl, hearing his own words come out of this asshole's mouth.

"But don't worry," Rick assure him, "We're not leaving you out. You'll get to watch it all happen. You'll get to rot in a cell for the rest of your life and watch day in and day out how the world goes on without you."

"You're gonna be made an example of," Michonne purrs, "You're gonna be proof that we're bringing civilization back to the world. Evidence of what happens when you break the rules."

During this little break down slash taunt, the patient's eyes blink to the sick white ceiling, half-listening. The pain in his throat tightens and it's agony, but he doesn't convey it.

"And you're gonna get to watch it all happen," Rick adds, "You're gonna see how wrong you were and how much better off people are without you saving them."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading; hope you all enjoy!**

 **There will be one final chapter of Save Yourself, before it comes to an end. Bitterweet, but there will be a sequel! I haven't quite figured out the title yet, but you will all know in two weeks!**

 ** **kaylee00: I loved the Negan scenes with Birdie, too. He's totally jealous that she "prefers" Nan over him haha. I am looking forward to Negan's development in the sequel, too, as well as him disrupting Dwight and Nan's little slice of heaven ;)****

 ** **CLTex: I agree, Negan always take more steps backwards than forwards with Nan. Hopefully, his time in prison will give him time to**** ** _ **actually**_** ** **think about their relationship. I think Nan still is unsettled by the name Lucille, now having the meaning from Negan, which she thought she could use to appeal to him. However, Negan can't seem to fully grasp that "Lucille" doesn't have a positive ring and it's because of him. His "compromise" once again puts the shit on Nan, like she's the only one with the issue and he's trying to cooperate. I love Nan being a mom, too :) I like that she's grown throughout the fic (but, like Negan, does backslide now and then) but ultimately is changing for the better, which has given her the confidence for being a mother.****


	64. Chapter 64

_"You were only waiting for this moment to arrive. Blackbird, fly." - Blackbird, The Beatles._

* * *

 _The sun peeks through the full branches of the pine trees. The rays of light bathe my skin in ethereal warmth. It's quiet here now, safe and serene at last. The woods are clear from all other interlopers, dead and living. And the house is no longer on fire; in fact, it's completely unharmed._

 _I stand before the mound of earth that's filled the grave I dug ages ago, looking on it. I crouch down, placing a small, black feather at the head, before I put my hand on the dirt. Thank you._

 _I rise up and take a look around the vacant woods. I've done it; I've finally finished what I set out to do. I've given him what I couldn't give him before. Which means I don't any reason to stay here anymore._

 _I exhale. Goodbye. Stepping around the grave, I walk forward from this place. A bird chirps merrily ahead._

 **...**

I inhale as I stretch out of sleep. The smell of coffee and breakfast makes me open my eyes. I turn my head to the right. A little smile forms on my face as I quietly watch him move something sizzling on the pan with a spatula.

He turns off the camping stove, setting the spatula down on the counter and turning. "Hey."

"Hey," I softly greet back, shifting my whole body, "What time is it?"

"Quarter after six," Dwight answers, picking up the coffee pot, "Breakfast is ready."

"Smells good," I breathe, lifting my head to view the crib, "She hasn't woke up yet?"

"No, not yet," He confirms, stirring a spoon in a small cup of coffee, "Here."

I smile, accepting the cup. "Thank you."

Dwight has a seat on the bed. As I sit up to drink, I notice that he's showered and dressed in clean clothes for cold weather.

"What time do we have to head out again?" I ask, as if I don't remember.

"I'd like to be out of here by nine," He tells me, checking his watch, "It's about a two hour drive from here."

I nod, taking another sip from my coffee. It's like hot liquid gold going down. "So, I guess I need to get up and get moving."

"I got most of it packed in the truck already," Dwight says, "All we need to worry about is the kitchen stuff and the crib."

"Think it'll fit?"

"Yeah, and we can always take it apart to pack it in and then just put it back together once we get there."

I nod again, resting my cup on my knee. I look over. "Are you nervous?"

Dwight shakes his head. "No, are you?"

I shrug my shoulders as my eyes glance at the walls. "A little," I meet Dwight's eyes again, "The Sanctuary's changing."

His eyes scan mine discernibly. "You know, you don't have to go, if you don't want to," He lets me know, "You and Birdie can stay and we can meet up every-"

I put my hand on his, quieting him. "No," I shake my head, "We're not staying, so stop saying that. We go where you go."

Dwight looks my earnest face over, before nodding. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to go, just because I have to. _I_ got told to leave, you didn't. You could live here and...Birdie can grow up in a community with other kids."

I shake my head again. "Birdie will fine; she'll be around other kids when we go for checkups," I move my hand from his hand and up to his face, "We're going with you. This place won't be home without you."

Dwight takes my hand, holding it his warm palm as he considers.

"Alright?"

He sighs, nodding. "Yeah."

"Good," I smile playfully, "Stop trying to get rid of us."

Dwight snickers through his nose. "I'm not trying to get rid of you, I just want you to be happy. And safe."

"We'll be happy and safe with you," I lean over to kiss him, "Besides, I did say I wanted to take Birdie away from here."

He pecks my lips. "Yeah, I remember."

I kiss him back, exhaling as I break the brief, sweet meeting at the sound of the baby starting to wake up. "Alright, I'm up."

"One egg, or two?" Dwight asks, getting up from the bed and walking over to the stove.

"Two," I answer, picking Birdie up, "Do I smell sausage?"

"Chicken sausage," He says, "Might be awhile before we have fresh meat like this again."

"I thought you said there was a river there?"

"There is," He scrapes the pan, "But you're gonna get sick of fish."

"I'm Scandinavian," I chuckle, sitting down in the armchair as I feed Birdie, "I very much doubt I'll get sick of fish."

Dwight laughs a little. "I'll hold you to that."

"Are there deer where we're going?"

"Possibly."

"Do you know how to hunt?"

"Yes."

I nod my head, mouthing an "okay" as I smile at Birdie.

Dwight puts a plate of two eggs, a thick sausage patty, and a small side of greasy hash browns down on the small table.

"Did you pack my trunk yet?"

"No, not yet." He replies, sitting down on the bed again to eat.

"Okay," I breathe, smiling even more as Birdie opens her eyes and stares up at me, "Well, hello there."

She just stares, continuing to suckle.

"Are you excited?" I sweetly ask her. "Are you excited to move today?"

At the placid, jovial cadence of my voice, the corner of her mouth tips up.

I snicker, "See? Birdie wants to go."

Dwight smiles, poking his fork down on some hash browns.

 **...**

The room that Dwight and I shared looks so bare. We aren't taking a lot of the stuff in this room, only what Dwight determined we'd need. The bed isn't stripped of anything, because we don't need any of it. I was tempted to fold up the quilted comforter, but decided not to when I figured that someone would move in here at some time and would need it more than I did.

The only things we are taking are our clothes, the baby's nursery, kitchen supplies, some food, toiletries, tools, two guns, and a few other bits and bobs that are both useful and personal. We only have so much room in the back of the truck, so we have to pack strategically and as lightly as possible. Still, I can't help but feel sentimental about the things we can't take, like the comforter, or the orangey brown armchair.

Aside from the crib, which cramped the room, though we managed, most of everything else of Birdie's stayed up on the vacant top floor until last night, when Dwight had gone up with some help to bring it down. I went up there as well, still unable to do heavy lifting, but feeling an obligation to go up after not having been up there since Dwight came through the door.

While they were in the room where Birdie and I briefly lived together, I carried her into the master bedroom down the hall. The door was closed, which made it feel as if I still needed to be invited in. But when I opened it and went in, it was empty of life. Actually, the room was quite empty of its inanimate things, too.

After it was clear and certain that he wasn't coming back, the Saviors plundered the top floor. Who took what and whether or not they redistributed some of the smaller things down in the new "Trading Post" is unknown to me, but I know that I saw a freshly showered worker wearing a polka-dotted dress that I had wore once and only once on my wedding day.

Dwight and I took the mattress, because we needed it. Neither of us acknowledged what transpired in this room, on this mattress. We needed it.

I took Birdie in later on, when Dwight was removing the nursery, because I had remembered that bottom drawer of his nightstand and wanted the things inside. The items were tossed on the floor, the nightstand having been taken, but were all still there. They're all in the trunk now, along with two other things, one of which was brought back with the leaderless Saviors that day the war ended, while the other was given to me. It was taken by Neal, my old neighbor, and was brought to me by his wife, Rachel, who is four months pregnant, in belief that I would want it. The memory of when it was taken instantly reminded me that he had had it in his possession, however I didn't realize until later why she thought I should have it.

"Sh," I tell Birdie, slipping on her second mitten, "It's cold outside, you need it."

She's squawked the whole time I've dressed her for the journey in the hat, booties, and now mittens that Frankie made her. I lined the blanket with the thin white one, so it won't get too hot in all that yarn.

"You are so fussy!" I lightly laugh, swaddling her and then picking her up.

She stops crowing and her eyes open, peering up at me.

"Did you just want me to pick you up?" I ask, patting her bottom and bouncing her slightly. "Huh? You just wanted to be held and loved on?" I kiss her nose and then her little lips. "Huh? Were you just pretending to be sad?"

The baby smiles up at me.

I chuckle, feigning shock. "You did? You tricked me? You clever little girl!"

Her smile grows into her dimples.

"What a way to worry your mother!" I continue to play, peppering her cheek with little kisses.

Birdie makes a small, amused coo that's followed by an inhale that we've determined is an attempt to laugh.

"You are so cruel to me." I laugh, which makes her smile more at my teasing.

Dwight walks in through the open door. "She laughing again?"

"Trying." I answer, smiling down at her. "Is everything ready?"

"Yep," Dwight comes over, "We're all packed." He snickers at Birdie's smiling face. "What's so funny?"

"She got what she wanted." I chuckle, watching her eyes wander towards Dwight. "Is Daddy here?"

Her smile lowers a little, as if she's trying to think about it.

"Is he here to spank you for tricking me?"

She stares at him still, considering that.

Dwight chuckles, gently taking her from my arms. "Tell her; 'No, he's here to save me from the woman who wants me spanked.'"

The baby's mouth settles, not liking to be taken from me.

"You're too sweet to be spanked," He talks to her, "Mom needs to grow a sense of humor."

I laugh at his tease, taking a strand of his blonde hair and tugging it.

"Ow!" He laughs out.

I chuckle, kissing him. "Oops."

"I'm starting to think you deserved Birdie tricking you," He kisses me back, before looking at her, "Did you see that?

Birdie's smile reappears.

"You did? You saw her pull my hair?"

She coos again, which makes the two of us laugh.

"She's only laughing, because I pulled your hair."

Dwight snickers, shrugging in agreement. "Well, she takes after somebody, I'll give her that," He hands her back to me, "You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"Alright," His eyes look around the room "We should get going, then."

I sigh, patting the bundled Birdie. "Yeah...you gonna miss it?"

"No," Dwight says, sure, "Are you?"

I shrug. "Mm, maybe just the memories."

"Yeah," He breathes out, "But we can make new ones where we're going."

I nod my head.

He touches the small of my back comfortingly. "Let's go."

"Okay." I turn and follow him out. I do look back once, for sentimentality sake.

The Sanctuary's been operating a little differently since the Saviors lost the war a little over two months ago. For starters, the points system is gone. The workers were able to move off the factory floor, because there was always room for them upstairs. Instead of points, everyone does what they can for the community and nobody is given more than others, Savior or worker.

Reed has established a trading post, so that people can provide services in exchange for payment of goods. That way nothing has to be as tightly regulated as it had been before, aside from the armory, infirmary, and food stock. People can trade for new shoes, instead of going without after slaving all day for meager points. The "earn what you take" rule is also gone.

So far, things seem to be working without Negan. Laura, Arat, and Reed seem to have been the three who stepped up and no one's had any arguments. In fact, no one said anything when Rick told the Saviors that they were going make changes to their community, or else they couldn't be part of the future. I guess watching their leader take off when it all fell apart took the guts out of them.

But none of this matters to Dwight, the baby, and I. We aren't staying at the Sanctuary. Today, we're moving. We don't have much of a choice. Well, that is to say, Dwight doesn't have a choice. Daryl apparently isn't so easily forgiving and told Dwight he had to leave and never come back, or else Daryl will kill him. Dwight was able to get him to agree to allow for some time, seeing as I just had a baby and needed time for my stitches to heal. This deal took place in the woods some place, while I was here. Dwight did get an earful about willingly going somewhere remote with him, knowing that he could be killed, and keeping me in the dark about it.

When he came back and told me what happened, he told me that he didn't expect me to go. He would understand if I didn't want to pack Birdie up and take her two hours away from civilization. But I, of course, told him we were going. Since then, Dwight's been going out to the place where we're going to live every day to get it ready for the three of us living there.

It's for the best. Dwight's betrayal isn't universally forgiven and I'm sort of seen as an agitator after the stunt I pulled with the workers. I don't think the Saviors would make us leave, but Dwight can't stay and I don't want to stay without him. Besides, we've both wanted to leave Sanctuary for awhile.

"Watch your step." Dwight says, carefully touching my arm as he gets to the bottom of the stairs.

"Thanks." I try not to look like I'm huffing and puffing, but Birdie's heavy and I'm getting a little hot with my winter jacket on, holding her in all her knitted garbs.

We walk onto the factory floor and Dwight puts his hand on my back again as we head to the entrance. I can't help but to look at people as we pass them. A few workers nod my way and give a polite smile.

"Hey!"

I turn, smiling brightly. "Hey, Hal."

He comes up to me, one arm in a sling. He puts his uninjured arm around me. "Thought you could just make off without saying goodbye, did you?"

"It's not goodbye," I pat his back, starving back tears, "It's just see ya later."

"You're damn right, it's not goodbye," He parts from the hug, wincing, "You're hurting my arm."

"You're squishing my baby."

Hal chuckles, glancing down at her. "I was just keeping her toasty."

Birdie looks up at him, still awake.

"Where's a smile for 'ol uncle Hal, huh?" Hal beeps her nose, which gets her to smile. "There it is."

"Do all the girls fall in love with you?" I joke.

"It's the accent," Hal pecks my cheek, "And my devilish good looks."

"Always humble."

"Always," He puts his arm around me, "Look at you; all grown up and moving out."

"Don't make me cry." I continue to walk.

"You'll be alright."

"We'll come by," I assure him, even though I'm sure he doesn't need it, "Whenever Birdie has check ups."

"Sounds good."

We stroll out of the factory. There's a lot of planter pots out front, since the Saviors are starting to grow more of their own food. According to Dwight, they learned what to plant for the winter, thanks to the Widow of Hilltop. Lillian enjoys it when she's not in the library. I wave at her and she waves back, which gets the attention of Frankie, Hazel, Danica, Tonya, and Amber. I would call them "the wives", but they aren't his wives anymore. They all get up and walk down to us, each exchanging hugs with me.

"You can't take our baby," Tonya wiggles Birdie's mitted hand, "We love her too much."

"We'll visit." I say.

"Often." Frankie tells me.

"I'll try." I smile, glancing at Lillian who followed, "Bye, Lillian."

She nods. "Bye, dear."

I hold my smile, but truthfully, it's hard to say goodbye. To her doubly, for some reason; almost as hard as it is to say goodbye to Hal. I turn and see Dwight flicking his cigarette by the truck, where Laura's also smoking.

"I gotta go."

"Bye!" Hazel waves.

Hal and I head over to the two. Laura drops her cigarette and steps on it. "Morning."

"Morning." I greet back with the same bland politeness.

She looks down at the baby, but doesn't say anymore. We haven't fully reconciled, all three of us, but we've been able to keep it civil. As far as I know, she and Hal haven't gotten back together either.

Dwight opens up the car door to help me get Birdie into the car seat. She's never been in one before, so we'll see how she likes it.

"Nan!" I look over towards the factory, finding Marisol running over. "Wait!"

"Go ahead, I've got it." Dwight says, fastening the straps around Birdie.

I step away from the truck a little, waiting for her.

"Here," She hands me the small box in her hand, "Its some muffins for the trip."

"Oh, thank you."

She nods, before hugging me abruptly. "See ya around, yeah?"

"Yeah," I smile at her, "We'll have to get the kids together."

Marisol chuckles a little. "Yeah..." She tucks her hair behind her ear, "Hey, listen, I just wanna say thank you. You know, for being there for me."

"Of course."

She bites her lip, trying to think of anything else. "Well, I better get back. The twins are inside."

"Okay, bye."

Marisol goes back inside the Sanctuary to care for her three week old twins. Harlan promised to stay at the Sanctuary until she gave birth and he did. Once Alma and Benjamín were born, he moved back to the Hilltop, but he made a deal with Laura to come by at the end of every month to do regular exams. That's about when I'll be bringing Birdie in for her scheduled check ups.

"Ready?" Dwight asks.

"Yes." I sigh.

Hal gives me a hug again. "Good luck, gorgeous."

"Get better, handsome."

Hal nods, before offering his hand to Dwight. "Take care of 'em."

"Alright," Dwight shakes hands with Hal, "See ya."

I smile as I walk around to the passenger's side. I love it when my boys get along. Once in, I look back. Birdie's car seat is facing backwards, so I'm not sure if she's asleep or not, but she's quiet.

Dwight gets into the car, slamming the door shut. "Oh, shit," He checks the mirror, "Sorry."

"It's okay."

He nods, looking me over. "You sure you're ready?"

"Yeah," I buckle my seatbelt, "Let's go."

Dwight fires up the truck and the guards open up the gates. I wave at Solara through the window as we drive out of the Sanctuary. I can't help but look in the right side mirror at the fading factory. I smile as I feel Dwight's hand touch mine.

"You still wanna stop?" He asks.

I take a breath, peering out at the shrinking saint statue. "Yeah."

 **...**

The gate rolls back, revealing little by little the under construction community. The sound of drilling and hammering could be heard as we pulled up to Alexandria. Dwight got out of the truck, too, but that was only so he could smoke as soon as Birdie and I go in.

"You gonna be okay going there by yourself?" Dwight asks me, opening the car door to the back.

"Yeah." I answer with a hint of nervousness. I look over as the gate reaches the end of the track. Rick stands there with a curt, serious expression his face. Now I feel less sure than I did a second ago. I wish Dwight could go with me, but Daryl's in there, so it's a no.

"Here." Dwight hands me Birdie, who's starting to wake up.

"Thank you."

Rick's eyes move from Dwight to me with the passing of the baby. He looks me over, before turning to the side. "It's this way."

I hesitate for a moment when he starts to walk further into Alexandria.

"You don't have to do this now," Dwight tells me, "You could come back when you're ready."

"No, I'm ready," I exhale, looking at Birdie, "I have to do this now."

"Okay," He soothes my arm, "I'll be out here."

I nod my head, moving forward when Rick stops after realizing I wasn't following along.

For the first couple seconds, I keep my eyes on Rick's back as I tread behind him. I want to tell him how much I appreciate this, but I don't think he'd appreciate that. Dwight talked to him about it on my behalf and, to my surprise, he had agreed. I know it wasn't easy for Dwight to do that, but he knew that I wanted some form of closure.

My eyes travels here and there as we walk, observing the houses being built and people busy with other repairs or work. Some of them look up from their jobs as Rick and I pass, but only a few keep eyes on me for a good long second. I briefly stare back, but for the most part, I just look away, not allowing myself to feel shameful or any other bad feelings.

Dwight didn't go into detail about our situation, but he didn't really have to. According to his account, Rick and most everyone else on the other side had become aware of Negan's little harem and were obviously repulsed by his abuse of power in that regard, in addition to everything else. So, when Dwight had to explain to him that I was married to Negan, however briefly, no more had to be said; Rick understood me to be a woman who got involved with Negan out of utility and survival, due to the harsh environment in which I lived at the Sanctuary.

That's what he's chosen to understand, anyway, just like I assume he's chosen to perceive me as the poor woman who had the misfortune of becoming pregnant with the tyrant's child. I suppose it's easier just to write me off like that; that way there's no resentment or animosity towards mother and child. Still, while Rick accepts it for what it is, I can tell he doesn't like it, and Dwight, knowing that others who are less levelheaded won't like it either, asked that it be kept as much a secret as possible. As far we both know, Rick, his girlfriend Michonne, and their doctor are the only people that definitively know the paternity of my baby besides everyone at the Sanctuary and everyone at the Sanctuary is over that gossip, or otherwise would rather not talk about it now that Negan's gone. I'm sure people are smart enough to speculate that Birdie isn't Dwight's, but I don't think anyone will outwardly acknowledge it.

We come up on a building that's small and roughly bricked. It's clear that a house was once here, before it was destroyed in the attack on Alexandria. It also looks like they might rebuild that house right next this little brick shed. There's a little window in the back and below it, a little sprig grows on the ground.

Rick pulls a thing of keys out of his pocket and goes through them, before he finds the one and sticks it in the large iron door. He looks me over as I come closer when it opens. He then sighs through his nose with frustration as he stares into the dark building. "Through there, watch your step."

I glance in, immediately focusing on the foreboding stairs. I nod, shushing Birdie who whines in my arms, before I step forward. When I reach the stairs, I touch the wall, since there's no railing, and carefully go down one step at a time. As I get further down, I see a bleak gray light at the bottom, as well as a row of bars.

I don't see him right away as my foot touches the dirty floor; it's hard to see beyond the iron bars of the prison cell, because it's so dark.

"Is it that time of day already?"

My breath balls up in my chest. I make out his tall figure lying horizontally on a mattress on the floor.

"I could've swore I just ate that gruel you call breakfast."

Birdie makes a little cry of frustration, so I soothe her promptly.

"Nan?"

I look up from my daughter and find him sitting up. A small veil of light from the window above him reveals the upper half of his face. His eyes stare straight at me.

I open my mouth, but I don't know what to say.

"That you?" He hoarsely asks.

"Y-" I look back when I hear footsteps, "Yes, it's me."

He stares with no response.

I glance down at Birdie, whose lip is pouting out. It's cold and she's picking up on my uneasiness.

"What are you doing here?"

I lift my head up. "I...I-"

"They didn't grab you from the Sanctuary and bring you here, did they?"

"N-no," I shake my head, "I came here with Dwight. I-"

"Oh, so you and that two-faced asshole are an item again?" He interrupts, bitterly scoffing. "Guess that means nobody killed him."

I stare, not amused. "No, he's still alive."

Negan huffs, before nodding.

"...How are you?" I ask him. "Your throat, I mean. Is it healed?"

His eyes scan mine. "I'm fine."

I nod my head. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

He scoffs again, as if he doesn't believe me. "I bet."

"I am," I tell him, "I'm glad you're okay and-"

"Not dead?" Negan chuckles a little under his breath. "I'm surprised you're not disappointed."

"Why would I be disappointed?"

"Because they didn't give you the honors," His grin can be seen in his eyes, "Last I checked, you were at my throat about damn near everything under the sun."

"You think I wanted you dead?"

"You and a shit ton of other folks."

"I never said I wanted that," I mildly argue, "I tried to get you to change, to compromise. I never wished death on you."

"Hm," His eyes travel down, "You got the baby?"

I briefly look at her. "Yes, I...they agreed to let me bring her."

"So, it's true?" Negan says. "Everyone's all chummy now; singing campfire songs and building the future?"

"Yeah," I nod, "All the communities agreed for peace and to work together."

He huffs through his nose, before looking back down. "I'm surprised they let you bring her down here. How is she?"

"She's good," I answer, smiling at her, "Great. She just had a check up. She's two months old now."

"Two months and nine days." Negan blandly corrects.

"Yeah..." I notice the tally marks etched into his wall.

"Bring her here."

My smile lowers and I look at him, then back at the stairs. I see boots about halfway down. "I don't know, if I-"

"Come on." Negan implores with a rasp in his voice. "Just close enough, so I can get a good look at her."

I walk slowly up to the cell, a little uneasy. As soon as I move, Negan stands and approaches. Moving from out of the shadows, he reveals a scruffier beard, plain clothes, and bare feet.

But all that is easily ignorable when I spy the clean cut line across his stubbly neck. The scar looks like it's healing, but it's still horrible to look at.

I look away from the scar and meet eyes with him. "I couldn't believe what Dwight said about your throat getting cut."

"Well, believe it," Negan retorts, "Because it's certainly fuckin' true."

"Were you...afraid?"

"What?"

"Were you afraid?" I repeat. "When it happened? Were you afraid that you were dying?"

Negan stares at me for a second, before his eyes snap below. "I didn't want to die, if that's what you mean."

I nod. "Does it hurt to eat or...to drink?"

"What's with the twenty fucking questions?"

"I'm just asking about you," I say honestly. "I was wor-" The word draws back in my mouth.

Negan's eyes flick back from the wall. "What was that?"

"I...I wanted to make sure your wounds were healing."

"Because...you were worried about me?"

"I was concerned about your health."

"Because you were worried?" Negan presses. "About me?"

"Yes, Negan, yes," I snap slightly, "I was worried about you, okay?"

A smile creeps up his face. "Aw, I'm flattered, darlin'."

I scoff under my breath. "I'm being serious."

"I get tha-"

"But I guess you'll make light of me, like always," I pat Birdie's bottom when she complains, "How many other people have come down here to ask if you were okay?"

That wipes the smirk off his face.

I shake my head, sighing. "Look, I just came here to see how you were and so that you could see Birdie."

Negan redirects his gaze down at our daughter in my arms. "She awake?"

"Yes," I smile at her sweet, inquiring eyes; "Dwight accidentally woke her up when he was getting out of the car." I take a few steps closer, stopping a few inches from the bars. "But she likes to look around."

Negan also comes forward, not fully out of the shadows, wrapping his hands around the bars. "Jesus..."

His voice immediately gets Birdie's attention. She hadn't seen him standing there and I'm sure her vision isn't fully clear in this lighting, but she holds her little gaze.

"Hey, darlin'," Negan calls her, "Did you get cuter from the last time I saw you?" His mouth closes and he swallows. "Look at those pretty eyes of yours."

Birdie blinks, still trying to figure him out. His voice is a little hoarser than before.

Negan reaches a hand through the bars, petting her hatted head. "You are so damn beautiful."

At that, or perhaps the recognition of his voice, a little smile tips up.

"Are you happy to see me?" He chuckles, "Do you still know who your old man is?" His smile dwindles and he looks up at me. "Does she?"

I meet his gaze, but lower my eyes down to Birdie. "She knows your voice."

"I meant-"

"Time's up," Rick's gruff voice steps further down into the cell, "Time to go."

I look back, nodding, before I turn back to Negan. "We have to go."

"When are you coming back?"

I hesitate to answer, because I know he won't take it well. "Uh, Negan-"

"You are coming back, right?" He inquires.

"Yes, but..." I look him in the eyes, hoping to convey what I want him to understand without having to say it.

Negan starts to form a scowl, as he does begin to understand. "But not with Birdie."

"I might be able to see you from time to time, but Birdie was a one time deal," I tell him, "They wanted you to see what you were missing out on."

He scoffs, bitter. "And so you thought it'd be wild to bring her by and wave her around in my face?"

"No, I wanted you to see her before we leave."

Negan lowers his incredulous smirk, turning his head back our way. "Leave?" His brows begin to gather. "Where you going?"

I peer back at him. "Daryl told Dwight he had to leave the area, so we're leaving the Sanctuary."

"When?"

"Now."

Negan's stare intensifies. "Where to?"

"Some place two hours away."

"Where?"

"I don't know," I answer him, half-truthful, "Dwight found some place we can live."

He tilts his head back a bit, laughing in disbelief below his breath. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I know it's-"

"So, you and Dwight are just gonna ride off into the sunset with _my_ daughter to go play house god knows where, while I'm sitting here collecting dust on my nut sack in this fucking place?"

"We don't have a choice."

Negan huffs. "No, Dwight doesn't have a choice."

"I'm going with him, Negan."

"Out there?" He chuckles derisively. "You're gonna take my daughter out there, away from safety?"

"Dwight and I can keep her safe," I firmly tell him, "And she's my daughter, too, and I decide what's best for her."

"Well, congratulations, you're doing a shitty job of it."

I inhale deeply. "Goodbye, Negan."

"I'm not done with you."

"Well, I'm done with you."

Negan scoffs, humored. "You'll never be done with me. Not while you got my pride and joy suckling your titty."

I stop just before the stairs. Rick's standing there in the middle. I look up at him, before I step up. "Can you?"

Rick takes Birdie, though a little reluctantly.

I turn around and go back down the steps. I stare at Negan from where I stand, furious, but composed. "I didn't have to come here, you know. And I didn't have to bring Birdie, but I wanted to, because I wanted you to see her."

"Why? So you'll sleep better at night after you take off with her?"

I huff. "You know, I am the only person who cared if you lived or died."

He snickers disrespectfully, walking back to his mattress.

"The Saviors came back to the Sanctuary without knowing whether or not they saved you," I continue, "Because they didn't care. Because Rick gave them a new vision of the future that was brighter than what you could ever promise."

"Is that right?" Negan groans as he eases down.

"Yes," I turn for a moment when I hear Birdie start to fuss, "Why couldn't you just listen? Why couldn't you just compromise?" I look at him, even though he's not looking back. "It didn't have to be this way."

Negan chuckles. "I don't know why you're crying, it turned out swell for you."

"You could've saved yourself," I say, "If you would've just stopped all of it and agreed to come to peace, then you may not have wound up here. You could still be running the Sanctuary and..." I sigh heavily, closing my eyes, "You could have watched Birdie grow up."

He scoffs, still staring at the wall across from him. "Is that to say that you would've stayed?"

"No," I answer with a slight shake of my head, "I would've gone with Dwight; I love him."

That gets yet another scoff from him.

"But maybe...we could've worked something out."

Negan continues to stare at the wall, but I can see his eyes move, as if he's thinking. "Are you gonna tell her about me?" When I don't answer right away, he turns his head.

"...Maybe one day, when she's older."

"Maybe?" Negan shifts his head back, chuckling incredulously. "Fucking bitch."

I reach into my jacket pocket and walk over to the cell. "Here," I stick my hand through the bars, laying a polaroid on the ground, "I thought you might like to have this."

He glances over. "Something to sit and stare at, knowing that my kid is calling someone else dad?"

"Something to give you hope."

Negan guffaws bitterly. "I'm gonna fucking rot in here, Anna; hope is kind of fucking useless."

I twist my mouth to the side as I rise up. "Well, then maybe you can look at it when the days are getting long and know that she's safe and happy."

"Yeah, safe and happy without me."

"Whose fault is that?" I snap a little.

Birdie starts to cry above us on the stairs.

I inhale and exhale. "Goodbye, Negan."

He doesn't say anything.

"Take care of yourself." I turn.

"Wait."

I pause, listening.

"What happen to Lucille?"

I stare at the light in the path up the stairs. "She's been put away."

"You have her?"

I breathe in, before I climb the steps.

When I reach the top, Birdie's no longer crying. Instead, she's cooing up at Rick. I smile, wiping a lone tear from my eye. Upon seeing me, Rick clears his throat, dropping the small smile, and handing me back my baby.

"Thank you."

He nods in response.

My eyes move beyond him when I spot a familiar face a few yards away. He stares back behind his long, unkept hair. I turn to follow Rick back to the entrance.

When we return, Dwight's there, grinding his second cigarette under his boot. "Hey."

"Hey," I offer a meek smile, before looking back at Rick, who doesn't step a foot out of the community, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Rick gives a curt nod again. "Take care."

"We will." I reply.

He steps back and starts to close the gates of Alexandria.

Dwight and I pack the baby up and go on our way.

"How was it?" Dwight asks once we're about a mile down the road.

I look out at the trees being left behind. "About as well as it could have gone."

…

Dwight stops the truck in front of the little house. It took about us a little longer than two hours to get here, but that was only because we had to stop for twenty minutes so I could feed Birdie. The whole way here, I kept thinking how much farther it seemed to be than I had previously thought, but remembering that it wasn't and that was only because I was confined in a factory for the past year or so.

I stare out the window at the soft yellow house with white trim. The exterior looks a little forgotten, but that's because it was for a while.

"I'm gonna go in real quick to make sure it's clear," Dwight opens his door, "I'll be right back."

"Okay," I mouth, watching him walk up to the house, open the door, and go inside.

I feel more nervous now than I did on our way to Alexandria. I was quiet for the most part during the ride over here. Dwight could tell, so he asked if I want to turn some music on. I said I did and so we put in a CD and turned the volume down enough to not disturb the baby, and so we could talk a little here and there.

I think it's just a little scary to start this new chapter of my life, mostly because it all feels so impossible. I never expected things to turn out the way they did, so I never expected to be here; living in a house someplace quiet with Birdie and Dwight, as a family. And happy. I never thought I'd be happy again...I never thought I deserved to be happy again.

Dwight reappears after about five minutes. He opens my door when he makes it to the car. "Alright, it's all clear."

"We can go in?"

"Yeah," He peers over his shoulder, and then looks back at me, "Do you wanna see it, before we unpack?"

I nod my head, glancing at the house again. "Yes."

"Okay."

I get out of the car and grab Birdie, before we all go together. Dwight lets me go in first and immediately my eyes start to explore. He gives me a tour of the house, knowing it like the back of his hand, while I silently follow him around, taking it all in. I nod when he tells me this and that about the bathroom, or kitchen, barely paying attention.

The house is a little bare. Dwight salvaged what he could of what was already here. The walls have little decorations here and there, but are a plain white. The floors are hardwood, which Dwight said he put in himself years ago.

The kitchen has a door to the backyard, or what would be the backyard, if there were fences. The table sits by the large window that oversees the back.

Just before we reach the hallway, I notice a crate filled with picture frames. I see him and Sherry smiling together in the one on top. He awkwardly told me that he was going to put them away someplace before we came, but forgot. I don't know why he explained that to me, I wasn't bothered by it.

He shows me where Birdie's room will be and then takes me to the room at the back of the house, down the hall. It's the master bedroom, where we'll sleep. It's humble and has its own bathroom. The king sized bedding hangs from a line outside.

"If you want, we can fit her crib against that wall, until you feel comfortable moving her into her own room." He tells me.

I nod my head, eyes wandering. "Okay."

Dwight looks me over. "The garden's right outside the window," He motions towards it, "Or, it will be anyway, once we fix it up."

I nod again with Birdie in my arms.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah..."

He scratches the back of his head. "You wanna rest for a bit, or get stuff moved in now?"

"We can start moving," I look at Birdie, "Let's get the bassinet out, so she'll sleep."

"You mean the laundry basket?" Dwight chuckles, walking towards the open doorway. "Alright."

 **...**

The crickets chirp outside in the dark. I can't remember the last time I hear crickets that weren't drown out by the sound of growling rotters. The moon and the stars light up the otherwise pitch-black night. I don't remember seeing either so vividly as well. I can feel the cold blaring off the window, but it feels good.

Dwight comes back into the bedroom. "I'm back."

"Okay."

"All the doors and windows are locked and the curtains are drawn," He reports, starting to undress, "I walked the perimeter, but I only ran into two walkers. I'll start working on a way to keep 'em off our trail tomorrow."

I nod my head, before closing the curtain of this window.

"Did she finally eat?" Dwight asks, peeking into the crib.

"Yeah."

He looks over at me. "You alright?"

"Yeah," I go away from the window, peeling back the blankets on my side of the bed, "Why?"

"I don't know," He shrugs, "You've been quiet all afternoon."

"I'm just tired," I tell him, "It's been a long day."

"Yeah..." He nods, trailing his eyes down to the bed.

I glance up, pausing from getting into bed. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just...want to make sure you're okay being here," He says, "I know it's not much and it's far from everything else, but-"

"I like it."

Dwight's eyes move up to mine. "Yeah?"

"Yes," I smile earnestly, "It's beautiful."

He smiles back, exhaling in relief. He chuckles. "I thought...I thought you didn't like it, you weren't saying anything."

"I was just looking around,trying to figure if this was real," I snicker, climbing under the covers, because of the chill, "I think it's perfect."

"Really?" Dwight gets in bed.

"Mhm," I smile as I lay my head on the pillow, "It's quiet and cozy and it'll be safe." I inhale and smile into my exhale. "It just feels like a fresh start; I couldn't ask for a better place to raise Birdie."

He smiles, before looking up at the ceiling fan.

I wiggle over and he puts his arm around me. "Thank you for bringing us here."

"I love you."

I close my eyes, sighing peacefully. "I love you, too."

Neither of us goes to sleep right away. We both just lay there, listening to the crickets and wondering how on earth we ever made out like this. How we could ever wind up here, together. Negan once told me that this is a new world and that meant there was a new chance to do better. Well, today was that chance. And tomorrow will be even better, kinder. I believe that; I believe in tomorrow.

 **End.**

* * *

 **Thank you all SO much for all the tremendous, wonderful support you've given me and my fanfic. It's so bittersweet/semi-emotional to end Save Yourself, but all things must come to an end.**

 **Look out for the SY's sequel, "Believe in Tomorrow"! It should be published in about two or three weeks.**

 **P.S. I have just recently transferred to a 4-year university and am in the process of moving into my apartment. It's a big life change for me and may be a little more demanding of my time. Being said, I will try to update FYIWAF weekly, or bi weekly(no promises) until it comes to an end and then Believe in Tomorrow will stay a bi weekly update to the best of my abilities.**

 **Again, Thank you.**


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